Welcome To Real Life
by Lara-Van
Summary: If you haven't read this by now, the summary doesn't even give you a CLUE. You've seen it on the lists. This time: Tanya lays down the law, and as a result, Dianne and Peter are reunited.
1. Settling In

**A Note From Lara: This is a sequel to my fic 'Smallville According to Dianne'. It would probably help if you read that first, but it's not necessary to understand this story. Especially since this is in an entirely different fandom and the events of SATD don't really affect it at all except in how they shaped Dianne's character.**

**When I first came up with the idea for this fic, it was just a fun little Mary-Sue wish fulfillment. Now, however, it's somewhat more than that. I'm planning on rewriting the entire first season, plus some, which means that this is going to be another LONG fic on my list of Things To Write. **

**Basically, my concept for where this is going is just exploring what would have happened if there had been just ONE more character in the first season... For example, was there another way to save the world? Centers mostly on Peter, Nathan, and Dianne, but the other heroes will be drawn in slowly as the fic progresses.**

**I'm not entirely sure what pairings I'll have in here, except that I'm very certain that Claire will be with Zack at some point... whatever happened to that kid, anyway? There will also be some Mohinder/OC girl.**

--

It was September 4th; two days after I'd been returned to this world. I had to say, it had been very disorienting. For the past nine years of my life, since I had turned sixteen, I had lived in Smallville, Kansas. As in Clark Kent and Lois Lane and superpowers and stuff. No shit.

And now I was here, in New York City. When he had returned me to the universe I'd been born in, Barry Allen had given me five hundred dollars and papers forged for me by my mentor, Batman. I'd used the money to check into a dumpy little motel in Queens. But the money was starting to run out. I needed to find a job and an apartment... fast.

I shook out the classified ads of the third newspaper I'd rifled through, searching for _anything_ that didn't involve making coffee. I'd had more than enough of that working at the Talon. I scanned down the page.

An ad halfway down the page caught my eye. _Wanted: Secretary, available six days a week. Must be personable and discreet. $10 an hour. No experience necessary._ No experience, yep, that was definitely me. I wrote down the phone number listed, and dialed.

When someone finally answered, I said, "This is Dianne Morton, calling about the, uh, secreterial job?"

"Alright," said the bored voice on the other end of the line, "We'll set you up for an interview time. What's a good time?"

"Any time," I said. "I can come in this afternoon if you want."

"The boss is out right now, but he'll be back tomorrow. I'll put you down for ten a.m." came the reply. I copied down the address the woman gave me, and then the line went dead. I shook my head; if this was an example of the people they had working for them, it was no wonder they needed a new secretary.

I returned to the classifieds, now searching for an apartment with rent I might be able to afford.

--

_9:30 a.m., the next day..._

I looked at myself in the mirror that hung over the dingy sink, checking carefully for anything I might have missed. My clothing seemed suitably secretary-like, just an ordinary gray pants suit I'd picked up at the Goodwill around the corner. My light brown hair had been forced out of its crazy waves and into a respectable ponytail, and my bright blue eyes were rimmed by mascara-coated lashes.

Finally, I deemed myself ready. I picked up my purse and headed out the door.

Twenty minutes later, I was standing outside the building I'd been directed to, looking up at the big sign which read _Vote Nathan Petrelli For Congress_ that hung over the door. Huh. A campaign office. Not exactly what I'd been expecting, but I was fairly desperate for cash. I pushed my way through the revolving doors and marching directly up to the hugely pregnant woman seated behind the front desk.

"My name's Dianne Morton. I'm here for a job interview?" I said firmly. Confidence was best, hadn't I heard that somewhere?

"Oh, you're the one who's gonna replace me while I'm on maternity leave?" she said in a tired voice. I read her nameplate; it said "Prissy Gordon". _That's a helluva name_, I mused. _I'd probably go nuts if my name was Prissy_.

"I guess so," I said. So, it was just a temp job? Oh well, I'd be out of work anyway when the campaign ended, regardless of whether the job was temporary enough. At least I'd have steady cash for long enough to find a regular job until then.

"Well then, go sit over there. The supervisor is seeing another prospective right now. He should be ready for you in a few minutes," the woman said, pointing at a chair next to the door. I sat where she directed.

When a panicked-looking girl who looked barely nineteen stepped out of one of the cordoned-off offices, she gestured me over and pointed into the office. "Mr. Sully will see you now."

I entered the office, apprehension flooding my gut. I'd never done an actual job interview before. I'd worked at the Talon for almost nine years, but they'd needed someone to run their latte machine pretty badly, and I'd been hired on the spot. Now, there was a chance I wouldn't get the job, and it made me slightly nervous.

The man sitting on the other side of the desk gestured for me to sit down again, and as I did, I studied him. He was a heavyset man, completely bald, with an angry look to his eyes, and I took an immediate dislike to him. Oh well. Didn't matter. I needed money. Everybody had to work with people they didn't like, right?

"Do you have any qualifications?" Sully asked.

"I have a high school diploma," I said. "And I'm a very quick learner. I worked in a coffee shop for several years, so I have plenty of customer service experience--"

"Yes, yes," he said, interrupting me. "That's all very good. You understand that this is just a temporary position, yes?" I nodded.

"Alright. We'll call you back. Leave your name and number with Ms. Gordon and we'll get back to you," he said, already turning away from me. I was disappointed. I had wanted a chance to prove myself, to prove that I really was good enough, but here he was just rifling through my papers and completely ignoring me.

I left the cubicle, gave the pregnant secretary the pertinent information, and went back to the hotel to wait for a call.

--

It was September 6th, four days after I returned to this universe, before the phone finally rang. I was seriously low on money, with only enough cash for one more night at the hotel. I'll admit, I was getting pretty worried. My mind, as will happen to anyone during periods of intense boredom and inactivity, had begun coming up with all sorts of improbably scenarios.

I listened politely while Ms. Gordon told me that I had, in fact, gotten the job. The second the line went dead, I jumped up off the bed and let out a whoop of ecstasy. I was saved! I wasn't going to have to become a stripper in order to get by!

Once the success high had worn off, I flipped back through the classifieds, trying to find the little box I had circled just the day before. I located it quickly: _Wanted: Female roommate for modest, two-bedroom apartment in Manhattan. Rent is $250 a month. No referrals needed. No pets!_ I wrote down the address at the bottom of the ad, and set out to see if the space was still free.

--

_Twenty minutes later..._

I glanced around the hallway before I knocked. Dim halogen bulbs illuminated white walls and dingy green trim along the floorboards. The heavy wooden door hanging before me was scratched and depressing-looking. Whatever. Even if the building sucked, I really needed this apartment. I'd take anything I could get right now.

After a moments survey, I finally rapped sharply on the door. "Just a minute!" came a woman's voice. I heard running footsteps, and then the door opened.

The girl standing on the other side appeared to be just a few years younger than myself- 23 or so. She was very beautiful, with dangerously straight strawberry blonde hair and dark brown eyes; I was also startled to find that she was nearly a foot shorter than me. But then again, at five foot ten, I was used to it.

"Um, can I help you?" she asked, her eyebrows drawing together in confusion.

"I came to ask about the apartment," I said. "There was an ad in the Times..."

The blonde's face cleared immediately. "Oh, yeah. I work in a coffee shop, I could barely afford the rent as it was and then my landlord upped it to $250 and I just didn't know what to do, so..." She extended her hand. "I'm Tanya Blackwood."

"Dianne Morton," I replied, shaking the proffered hand.

"So, I guess you'll want to see the apartment?" Tanya asked tentatively. I nodded. "Well then, come on in. It's kind of a mess right now, but..." I followed her as she stepped back inside.

The first thing that struck me was... yellow. The kitchen, the first room I found myself in, was yellow _everywhere_. The walls were painted a bright sunshine yellow, and the drapes that framed the windows were a pale yellow with white polka dots. The kitchen table and chairs were a deep orangey-yellow, and even the cabinets were made of a pale ash wood that seemed to take on the same golden hue as everything else in the room.

"Wow, it's really... bright. And... um... airy," I stuttered, trying to find a way to comment on the room without seeming offensive. I mean, there's nothing wrong with yellow, but... wow.

Tanya grinned. "You mean it's a little much, right?" I nodded, grinning wryly. "Yeah," she said. "I didn't realize how bright the colors would be when I bought the paint. Those paint chips really don't do it justice, do they? Let's get out of the kitchen, it really is kind of too much."

She led me through the rest of the apartment, which thankfully was far less vibrant, in pale shades of lavendar and green. The whole apartment, though small and certainly not anything fancy, gave off an air of openness and peace.

Tanya chattered throughout the tour, giving me details on herself (she played the flute and hated electronics), her job (she disliked the coffee industry as much as I did), her crazy ex-boyfriend (who, it seemed, didn't know when to let go), and some small tidbits on the apartment itself (kitchen sink was spastic, pigeons tended to perch outside the kitchen window). She seemed overall a very cheery person, which I suppose I should have guessed when I first saw the kitchen.

She offered to make coffee (despite our mutual reservations in that area) when we arrived back in the kitchen. I attempted to politely decline, but she insisted. As she got into an argument with the bag of filters, she turned back over her shoulder and asked, "So, what do you think?"

"I think I like the apartment and I'd like to move in," I said. "Is there, like, any kind of paperwork we have to file with the landlord?"

Tanya shook her head, still struggling with the filters. "I'll just let him know I've found a roommate. When do you want to move in?"

I shrugged. "I can move in tomorrow sometime, if that's okay. Right now, I'm stuck in a crappy hotel in Queens and it's seriously depressing."

"Let me guess," Tanya said, having finally succeeded in starting the coffee. "You were living with your boyfriend, had a terrible breakup?"

"Nope. Actually, I just moved to the city--" More or less. "--and I'm trying to, you know, start a new life." Tanya looked genuinely interested, so I continued. "I grew up in Chicago, so I'm used to the city. But my parents died when I was a little kid, so I was always stuck in bad foster homes. As soon as I scraped together enough money for the bus fare and some extra to start out, I moved to New York, just so I'd never have to risk running into any of them again." Tanya grimaced and nodded in sympathy. "So now I'm working as a temp secretary for Nathan Petrelli's campaign."

Tanya's brown eyes widened. "Nathan Petrelli? You know him?" she gasped.

I shook my head. "I just started working there, so no. I'll probably see him at some point, but so have plenty of other people."

Tanya took a moment to mull that statement over, and apparently decided it had some merit. "I guess that makes sense. So, what time do you want to move in?" she asked.

"Well," I said slowly. "I'm working from ten until five tomorrow, so I could come up at six o'clock or something. I don't really have all that much to unpack. Just a couple of suitcases. I left pretty much all my stuff behind when I moved here." Tanya nodded.

"Okay. Well then, see you tomorrow," she said. I smiled at her, and left to go pack up what few possessions I had brought back to this world with me.

**--**

**Sorry for the plotless first chapter. I promise you, next chapter I'll introduce a couple of the original (as in non-OC) heroes. Updates will probably be slow, but I hope what I write makes it worth it. And I should also warn you that it's been about ten years since I've been to NYC, so a lot of the locations are just going to be pulled out of the air, with the hope that they're not entirely inaccurate.**


	2. New Friends

**A Note From Lara: Alright, here's the second chapter, in which Dianne starts her job and makes a new friend. Hope you enjoy!**

**I also have to say that I'm very disappointed. Since I posted the first chapter, according to Reader Traffic, at least 30 people have read this fic. You know how many reviews I've gotten? Zero. I review every story I read, and I really wish the courtesy would be returned! It's called the Review Revolution for a reason!**

--

Let me just say this: working as a secretary is _really boring_. I mean, a couple of random politicians I'd never heard of came in and that was mildly interesting. But it wasn't like I actually got to _talk_ to anyone of importance, I simply offered them refreshments and showed them through to Mr. Petrelli's private office. It was a big change; I was so used to Gotham, where I dealt with people of importance pretty frequently, that not attempting to offer sage advice felt very strange.

It turned out that I was little more than a guard dog at the front of the office. I answered the phone, took messages for the various VIPs within the office, and intercepted packages. That was it. I kid you not. But I was getting paid really well, so I pushed through the boredom.

Around noon, the rush of door traffic began to slow, as people around the offices filtered out to go on their respective lunch breaks. I envied them; my lunch consisted of a brown paper sack with an apple and a couple of donuts I'd picked up this morning on my way to work, which I ate at my desk.

I was busy deciding whether the large bruise on the apple decreased it's edibility when my eye was caught by a man about my age pushing through the revolving doors. He was wearing a brown trenchcoat over a red hoodie, and I found him incredibly good-looking. He certainly wasn't classically handsome, but there was something immediately endearing about his wide brown eyes and the long lock of hair that flopped over the side of his face.

He made his way over to the desk where I sat. "Hey, is my brother in?" he asked, with a friendly smile.

"Your brother?" I inquired. "I'm really new here, so..."

The guy laughed. "You really _must_ be new. I'm Peter Petrelli."

"Peter--? _Oh!_" I gasped, my eyes widening. "You're Nathan Petrelli's brother? Aw crap, sorry, I'll let him know you're here." I fumbled around, trying to find the sheet with the extension code for Mr. Petrelli's office.

Suddenly, Peter's hand descended into my range of vision and stopped mine in its awkward dance across the papers scattered across the desk. "It's okay. Don't worry about it, I'll just go on in. It's not like I need some formal announcement. Besides, I go barging in there practically every day anyway."

"Well then, Mr. Petrelli--" I began, intended to end this awkward confrontation as soon as possible, but he interrupted me.

"Call me Peter," he said.

"Alright... Peter. I guess I'll probably see you around here sometime," I said, totally thrown by this random display of friendliness. Hey, can you blame me? I'd spent the whole morning kowtowing to stuffed suits.

"Yeah, probably, Miss--?"

"Morton. Dianne Morton," I said, grinning. There was just something nostalgic about Peter's genuine openness that made you feel friendly in return.

"Nice to meet you Dianne," he said. I nodded, and he disappeared around the corner into Nathan's office.

That was... interesting. I had spoken very briefly with Nathan Petrelli that morning, and I couldn't draw any familial connection between the mannerisms of the two brothers. I mean, sure they kind of _looked_ similar, but Nathan was stiff and formal and felt slightly plastic, while even in this brief meeting I had the sense that Peter was completely the opposite.

A sudden rap on the desk in front of me interrupted my musings. "Hey!" Mr. Sully demanded. "Quit staring off into space and get to work! Mr. Petrelli needs these filed!" He handed me a stack of manilla folders. I nodded, biting back a sharp retort, and took the folders.

--

"Hey!" Tanya said, pulling the door open before I had even knocked twice.

"Hey," I said, heaving my pair of mismatched suitcases over the threshhold. Everything I owned was inside. "How was the coffee game?"

Tanya shrugged. "If I smell one more cup of coffee, I swear I will rip my face off," she said nonchalantly. I nodded, trying desperately to keep a straight face. "Well, anyway, here's your key. And you're in the bedroom on the far right." She placed the key in my palm and hefted one of my suitcases.

I spent the evening unpacking carefully. Sometime in the six years I had studied with Bruce Wayne, I had picked up a neat streak, and I arranged my clothes tidily in their drawers. Then, once I had ascertained that Tanya was deeply engrossed in _Wheel of Fortune_, I locked my bedroom door and opened the large outer pocket on the bigger of my suitcases.

Inside, I found a collection of items I had "borrowed" from my esteemed mentor. A collection of batarangs, a heavy-duty taser, a pair of Bats's patented gauntlets, and various other interesting and useful items. I hadn't known what to expect when I returned to this world, and I thought it was best to be prepared. My apprehension had been heightened when Barry Allen had told me that "things had changed a lot" in my absence. I had no idea what he'd meant, but it seemed that my worries were unfounded. Maybe I wouldn't need this stuff anymore.

I tapped at the floorboards, searching for a loose one. After several minutes of poking around at the floor, I found one that would come up. I worked at it carefully, using one of the contraband batarangs to help pry it up. Very soon, I had it pulled out of the floor, and I quickly stored the items beneath the floor. Seconds later, I'd replaced the board and scuffed away the scratch marks. No one but me would ever know the board was anything but firmly stuck down.

There was one other thing at the bottom of the suitcase pocket, and this I extracted with particular reverence. I unfolded the dark material slowly until it was completely stretched out on the bed. I looked at it- a black spandex bodysuit with a short white cape. The front of the suit was adorned with a white eight-pointed star. A black domino mask and a pair of white leather boots completed the outfit.

I smiled nostalgically; this was the outfit I had worn while working with the Justice League. I had technically been the original Batgirl, but the papers had called me Stargirl. I kind of felt bad for Courtney Whitmore if she ever showed up; her name was already taken. Then again, in my day, the Justice League was still an underground operation and was half urban legend, half myth. Nobody had even been sure they really existed when I left.

After a few moments reminiscence, I refolded the costume and stashed it in the back of the closet. As much as I wanted to leave those years of my life behind and redefine my existence, I'd had some really good times in that outfit. Actually, I'd had some really good times taking that outfit off...

Prying my mind out of the gutter, I pushed my suitcases under the bed and unlocked the door. "I think I'm going to turn in," I called down the hallway to Tanya. "It's been a crazy day." I heard her unintelligible reply and went into the tiny bathroom that adjoined my room to get ready for bed.

--

Five a.m. is _so_ not the time to wake me up, especially when the method of awakening is the blaring of death metal at about a billion decibels in the apartment above me. Normally I'm not opposed to metal, but I'm generally against anything but continued sleep at that time of "day".

"God," I groaned. "Shut up!" For a moment the screaming ceased, and I breathed a sigh of relief. And then a new song began, and I sighed. I hauled myself out of bed, pulled on my bedraggled old bathrobe over my pajamas, and stumped into the garish kitchen.

Tanya was sitting there, sipping at something I suspected was highly caffeinated. "What's up with the noise?" I half-shouted, gesturing to the ceiling. She rolled her eyes.

"That's Spens. He's really into hardcord music. And beer. Sometimes at the same time. Which, you know, is a bad thing," she explained. I nodded. Yeah... I'd had a couple of foster "dads" like that. This, I could deal with. Tanya, on the other hand, was unnaturally alert, which made me wary.

"You know," I said grouchily, "You are _far_ too cheerful for this hour."

Tanya grinned, gesturing at her mug. "Bet you didn't know they make lattes with four times the caffeine of normal coffee," she said by way of explanation. I nodded again. I'd have to get some of that stuff one of these days.

"I'm going to go deal with Spens," I said. "I'm going to go crazy if he keeps blasting that so loud."

She shrugged. "Okay, but I should probably warn you he's a really mean drunk." Whatever, a mean drunk was what had sent me out into the rain the night I'd been Dr. Who-ed into another universe. I could handle it. Returning to my bedroom, I pulled on a random T-shirt and jeans. Then I exited the apartment and stomped up the stairs to the next floor.

It was a matter of seconds to determine which apartment was the source of the racket. I rapped my knuckles sharply against the door. After several minutes of knocking, a bleary-eyed Spens opened the door. His preternaturally red hair was half-in and half-out of dredlocks, and he reeked of alcohol. "Whassup?" he slurred.

"For the love of god, can you turn the music down?" I said, more sharply than I intended to. "It's five o'clock in the goddamn morning." He shut the door sharply, without replying. I waited for a moment, expecting to hear the volume go down on the blasting music. After several minutes had gone by without a reduction in the shrieking, I knocked again.

Spens again opened the door. "You again?" he muttered.

"Me _still_," I said, eyes narrowing in anger. "I'm not asking for much. Just turn down your music."

"Whatever, bitch," he said, turning to shut the door. I jammed my foot in the crack before he could slam it shut, wincing as I realized too late that I wasn't wearing shoes.

"Look, it's incredibly easy, you brainless moron. Just find the little knob that says 'volume' and turn it to the left. A lot to the left. Is that really too much to ask?" I said, sarcasm flooding my voice. Spens's alcohol-filmed eyes blazed with anger, and I suddenly felt a thrill of apprehension.

"Get. Out. Of. My. Apartment," he growled loudly, staring down at my toes which just happened to be touching his carpet. I rolled my shoulders back, folded my arms, and tipped my chin up in my best defiant stare.

"No. Not until you turn down your music." The little coward in the back of my head was screaming _Get out, Dianne, get out! He's a total nutcase! Get out! _ I like to pretend I don't hear that little voice.

"Get out of my apartment!" he shrieked, slapping me across the face. I jerked back, but kept my foot firmly stuck in the door.

"Bite me," I hissed furiously. "I'm asking you to just turn your music down."

Enraged, Spens launched himself across the space between us, knocking me backward into the wall behind me. I yelped. Caught by surprise, it took me several moments to regain my balance and by that point, Spens's hands were around my throat. I allowed him to think he had the upper hand while I considered the best way to get him off me without really hurting him. I had finally decided on a quick jab to the kidney and a half-nelson, when Spens was forcibly wrenched away from me.

"Hey!" yelled a male voice. "Leave her alone!" Almost immediately, Spens turned on my rescuer, yelling incoherently. The two men grappled in the middle of the hallway. Although seriously inebriated, Spens appeared to be stronger than his opponent; I sighed, deciding immediately to intervene. I gathered my bearings, and made my move.

Ten-point-seven seconds later, Spens was whimpering, facedown on the floor with his arms twisted tightly behind him. I placed my knee in the center of his back to hold him in place. Only then did I look up at the man who had rescued me.

"Peter?" I gasped.

"Dianne?" said the younger brother of my employer, seeming equally stunned to see me. "What are you doing here?"

"I just moved in downstairs. What are _you_ doing here?"

"I live in the apartment just across the hall," Peter explained. "How did you... that was... amazing. I guess you didn't exactly need rescuing, did you?"

I shook my head. "I can usually take pretty good care of myself. I studied martial arts from a master. But it's always nice to have some help. Thanks." Saying thank-you wasn't something I was good at, but it was clearly necessary.

"Anytime. So, how'd you get on Spens's bad side so fast?" he asked.

I shrugged. "I asked him to turn down his music. He said no, I got stubborn, he got physical."

"Boy, you've got guts," he said. "Most people in this building just buy earplugs."

"Well, I'm not most people," I said firmly. "And I try not to let people push me around, so.... Just tell me that most New Yorkers react better to liquor than this guy." I gestured to Spens, who was still pinned to the floor.

Peter nodded. "Well, I can't speak for the nutballs in Queens," he said with a hint of a smile in his voice, "but I promise everybody else in Manhattan is perfectly well-mannered when they're inebriated. I take it you're new to the city?"

I nodded. "Pretty much. I lived for the past nine years in Kansas," I said, and immediately smacked myself mentally. I hadn't planned on actually telling anybody even part of the truth about my life. It was just too weird. And besides, even if it had been supremely cool hanging out with Kara Zor-El and Oliver Queen, still... it was _Kansas_!

Peter grinned. "Well, if you want, I can give you the grand tour. Show you the sights, give you a map of the L, that kind of stuff," he offered.

"Thanks," I said. "I grew up in Chicago, but the Big Apple is definitely... well, bigger." Peter laughed. Suddenly, Spens groaned. "Oh, crap," I said. "Sorry man. Didn't mean to leave you down there. Now, are you going to turn your music down?"

"Yes, yes! Just lemme up!" he grunted. I released my grip on his arms and took my knee out of the center of his back. He jumped to his feet and scurried into his apartment. Seconds later, the screaming and harsh chords ceased entirely.

"Well, that's one problem solved," I muttered, brushing imaginary dust from my hands. "I'll see you later." Peter nodded, and we parted ways, returning to our own apartments.

--

**Alright, that's chapter two! Hope you enjoyed, and I apologize for anything that seems kind of OOC. I've watched the first season of Heroes about a billion times (thank god for TV on DVD), but this is my first major fic in the fandom, so... REVIEW AND LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK!!!!!!!!**


	3. Unwitting Prophecy

**A Note From Lara: Well, here is a HUGE thank-you to all of you who actually reviewed! Sorry about the delay in posts. I've had a five hour vocal performance I had to prepare for all week, so I've been really swamped- three hour rehearsals every day, plus my job and classwork... you all know how it is, I'm sure. **

**And I should probably give you a heads-up: As this begins about a month pre-Heroes, there won't be a lot of action for the first few chapters. Maybe some subtle hints of things to come, but nothing big. No powers, no superfights, at least at first. Anyway, what are you still reading this for? There's a story down there! *points***

--

Work the next day was just the same as the day before- stuffed suits, packages, mail, directing door traffic; everything that was clearly just business as usual. It was a job I could do hog-tied with both eyes closed.

The highlight of the day was, once again, a brief conversation with Peter at noon. I spotted him coming through the revolving door and nodded to him. Grinning, he approached my desk.

"I'm here to see my brother. Is he in?" he said.

Smiling involuntarily, I said, "Well that depends. Who's your brother?" Peter laughed, and after a moment I joined him.

"I guess I should go in. Nathan wants to get the family together, go out to lunch," he said finally.

"Sounds nice," I commented.

He shrugged. "Yeah, it does. If you don't know my family, anyway. Mom and Heidi- that's Nathan's wife- are constantly disagreeing about something. Nathan tends to prefer photo ops to conversation. But we're family. That's what counts. I mean, sure we're a little dysfunctional, but..." He trailed away, apparently unsure how to finish the sentence.

I suddenly felt a twinge of pity for him. It was a small miracle that someone as sweet as Peter had come from a family such as that he described. I'd only ever met Nathan, and that just briefly, but if the rest of the family was as stiff and overly formal as the would-be Congressman, Peter really was the black sheep. "But isn't every family?" I said, trying, in my own way, to repair a little bit of the damage. Then I shrugged, searching for a way to change the subject. "So, I seem to recall something about a tour of the city?"

He smiled. "Yeah. I know all the tourist traps in three boroughs. What time do you get off work?"

"Not until six or so. But the office closes early on Sunday, so I ought to be done by noon that day," I told him. "Does Sunday work, or are you passing another luncheon with the family?"

"No, Sunday's good," Peter said.

"Alright. Sunday it is."

"Peter!" came a voice from behind me. I whipped around and spotted Nathan Petrelli emerging from his office. Smiling in an acceptably warm way, he strode up to us. "Peter, you know Ms. Morton, I presume? She's filling in for Mrs. Gordon while she's on maternity leave," he said.

Peter nodded, that childlike grin spreading once more across his face. It was clear that he was genuinely happy to see his brother, something I totally couldn't understand; the guy was kind of a cold distant jerk.

"Yeah," Peter said. "Dianne lives in my building. I offered to give her the grand tour of the city."

"I just moved to New York, you see," I explained when Nathan shot a quizzical look in my direction. The phone rang and I turned away to answer it, still half-listening to the conversation.

Nathan nodded to me and returned his attention to Peter. "Alright Pete, I've got an hour before I need to be back. Mom is determined that we're going to _La Petit_. Apparently she's got it into her head that the boys will benefit from some 'high culture'."

The two brothers turned away from my desk and headed out the revolving doors. The person on the other end of the phone was saying something about a campaign contribution. I sighed inaudibly and gave my full attention to the caller. "I'm afraid that Mr. Petrelli is out at the moment," I said politely, drawing out a pen and a pad of Post-it notes, "but I can take a message to give to him when he returns. Who did you say you're calling on behalf of?"

"The Linderman Group," said the woman. "Tell Mr. Petrelli we'll be calling again."

"Alright. Thank you for your support of the Petrelli campaign," I said, automatically rattling off my carefully rehearsed sendoff spiel. Something about that name had caught my attention... I hung up the phone and jotted down the information.

The Linderman Group... I seemed to recall something... My memories were coming up blank, although I _knew_ I'd heard the name somewhere. Oh well. It was an issue for another time, when I didn't have a red-faced Mr. Sully glaring down my neck.

--

I eagerly awaited my release from the daily grind on Sunday. I had been virtually nowhere aside from the campaign office and the apartment in the full week I had spent in this universe. Time seemed to crawl by until 11:45, and once again, the humdrum of office life was incredibly dull to me. At least at the Talon, I'd been up and on the move.

Finally, Sully stumped up to my desk and said that everyone else was on their way out, I might as well go too. I punched out as quickly as possible and headed down to the street corner where Peter and I had agreed to meet.

He was waiting there when I arrived. "You're early!" I said as we started off down the sidewalk in the direction he indicated.

"Yes, Mr. Deveaux was having a good day today, and he told me (and I quote) 'to get out and enjoy the sunshine like all the other young people,'" Peter said.

"Mr. Deveaux?"

"Oh, my patient. I'm a hospice nurse," he explained.

I raised my eyebrows. "Really? That's not what I would have exp--" I paused. "On second thought, that's _exactly_ what I would expect you to be."

Looking surprised, he asked, "Am I really that easy to read?"

I shook my head. "Nah, I'm just really good at figuring people out. I was taught by the best." _God, shut up shut up shut _up_, Dianne. No talking about Bruce Wayne to the locals!_ I smacked myself mentally. I had to quit dropping these subtle hints unintentionally. Not that anyone was likely to guess at the truth, but still...

"So, what have you figured out about me?" he asked, smiling as if at some private joke.

I took a moment to study him. His dark hair fell into his equally dark eyes, and he was wearing the trenchcoat that I began to suspect his trademark. "Well," I began slowly, "You're loyal to your friends and family. You're a very warm, open person, and I think you genuinely care about other people. That's obvious, though. Not many people would have bothered to get involved in that little tussle with our mutual neighbor the other day." Peter shrugged noncommitally. "And... I bet you were a real daydreamer as a kid, am I right?"

Peter came to a complete stop and turned to stare at me. "How did you know that? That's amazing!"

I smiled. "Like I said, I'm good at reading people. So, where exactly are we headed?" The truth was, I'd simply noticed that he had dreamers eyes. That faraway look I'd noticed during our first conversation was a sure sign. It was clear enough to me, though I'd barely known him a week. He had big hopes, he was an optimist. Actually, he reminded me rather a lot of Clark Kent that way.

"Well, I thought we'd start with the Statue of Liberty, Times Square, Central Park, Rockefeller Plaza, that kind of thing. After that, I'll just kind of give you the layout of Manhattan so you're not totally lost all the time," he said.

"Sounds good," I replied. "Lead the way."

--

Shortly thereafter, we were standing on the roof of the Empire State Building. I pushed my fingers through the chain-link fence that crowned the stone ledges, down 86 stories to the ground. As the wind whipped through my hair, I laughed softly. Growing up in Chicago, I'd been higher than this anytime I felt like forking over ten bucks to travel up to the top of the Sears Tower, but the Tower didn't have an outdoor observation deck.

"Hello New York City!" I yelled. "Dianne Li Morten has arrived!" Several other people who shared the skydeck with us glared at me.

Peter laughed, reaching up to curl his fingers through links in the fence far above his head. He leaned up against the fence, looking down at the city spread out for miles below us. A beatific smile spread across his face. "I always liked coming up here, even when I was a kid. Even with the fences, you just feel so... free. Like you're miles above everything and nothing can touch you."

"We _are_ miles above everything. Well, _a_ mile, at least," I said jokingly, "and short of a peregrin falcon dive-bombing us, I'd call us pretty much untouchable." Peter nodded, still watching the pulse of life in the city below us. The bright autumn sunlight made everything glitter, and the river sparkled like glass.

"The best time to come up here is just before sunset in the summer. All the lights in the city are on and the last of the sunlight makes it all just... glow," he said, glancing up at me. "Nathan never liked it though. He used to be afraid of heights. Of course, he'd kill me if he knew I'd told you that, but--"

"Don't worry, Nathan's secret is safe with me," I assured.

--

The day passed too quickly. I had always loved big cities- Chicago, Metropolis, even Gotham had its charms- but there was just something about New York that captivated me in a way no other place had. The stark contrast between the districts, the bustle and shouts, the way the whole world lit up as the sun went down, fascinated me.

Peter's company helped as well; he was interesting and easy to talk to, and there was no lack of conversation. We discovered that we had similar taste in music (a mutual fascination with alt rock and Winton Marsalis), an abiding passion for exotic foods, and a secret desire to save the world from itself.

I don't remember how we stumbled onto the topic, but as we paused to pay our respects at Ground Zero, I said sadly, "It's a shame things like this have to happen." Peter nodded, and I continued. "Sometimes it feels like the whole world's spinning out of control, doesn't it? All these useless wars, terrorism..." I trailed away, staring down into the pit littered with concrete and glass.

"I know what you mean," he said as we moved on down the sidewalk. "I just wish I could... protect the whole world. All those people out there who are dying for whatever reason because there was no one looking out just for _them_, it makes me so frustrated. It's awful. But what can I do? I'm just a random nurse from Manhattan. Nah, it's Nathan who's gonna save the world." I nodded, but inside I was wondering. Yes, Nathan was in a position to do a tremendous amount of good... but would he? He seemed kind of heartless to me, which only deepened my confusion over Peter's brotherly devotion to him.

"Perhaps," I said, "But if there's one thing I've learned in my life, it's that sometimes it's the people you least expect who turn out to be heroes." Little did I know at the time how very very true that statement would turn out to be.

--

That evening, I returned to the apartment with a smile on my lips and my pockets stuffed with maps and pamphlets I had jokingly picked up from various tourist-targeting locales. As I locked the door behind me, I heard Tanya's muffled greeting from the living room.

"Hey," she said again as I entered the other room. "I thought you got off work at noon."

"I did," I said, dropping onto the sofa beside her, "but Peter Petrelli offered to give me the grand tour of New York City this afternoon. Thought I mentioned that."

Tanya's brown eyes lit up. "Oh, you know Peter? He lives upstairs." I nodded. She leaned forward conspiratorily. "Isn't he _dreamy_?"

My eyebrows shot up. "I hadn't really thought about him that way," I pointed out. "I mean, when I first met him I noticed that he was, y'know, good-looking, but I'm so used to being just one of the boys that if I got fixated on every guy I met, things would get so awkward." Tanya nodded wisely. "Although that _might_ be why I haven't had a serious relationship in over two years," I mused.

She nodded sympathetically. "I know what you mean- half the guys you meet turn out to be such disappointments anyway that it's hardly worth bothering. And the ones who aren't are either gay or taken." She sighed in regret. "Not Peter though. He's had a couple of girlfriends, but nobody for about a year now. At least, not that I know of. Although the rumor is that he's got a heavy crush on somebody or other."

Filing that tidbit away for some future use, I stood up. "Well, I'm gonna turn in," I said.

_To be continued..._

--

**I don't know, for some reason I just don't feel comfortable with this chapter. The dialogue feels a little forced to me, and I had some difficulty writing it (me! Having difficulty doing the one thing I'm really good at! It's ridiculous!). It just felt like a filler chapter with no particular point to it. I promise things will pick up in the next chapter, they really will!**


	4. Roaches and Monopoly

**A Note From Lara: Alright, I'm slowly drawing in some more characters as we go. As the plot begins to deepen, I'll be moving away more from Dianne's first-person POV, so here's a quick note on that. If it's in first person, just assume that it's Dianne's POV. If it's in third person, the scene will be focusing on other characters. But I suppose you could have figured that out for yourself.**

--

Is it possible for someone to become your best friend within a week of meeting you? That's how it was with Peter and me. The fact that he put up with me qualified him for sainthood because frankly, if people came with warning labels, mine would read: "Does Not Mix Well With Others." I do _try_ to be zen, but then somebody gets in my face or does one of about a zillion things that piss me off and I just... explode. That, combined with the fact that I constantly needed tweezers to remove the hypothetical splinter-that-is-my-foot from my mouth made me rather difficult to get along with. But his quiet, unassuming demeanor was a subtle counterpoint to my firebrand temperament, and the fact that we lived in such close proximity gave us plenty of opportunity to get to know each other. We found ourselves randomly meeting on our way downstairs in the morning, and I fell into the habit of inviting him over for coffee most evenings.

This was a state of affairs which was highly approved by Tanya, who, it was immediately apparent, had a bit of a crush on Peter. She took to baking all kinds of things to go with the coffee (which she continued to drink vast amounts of, despite her insistence that working in a coffeeshop had ruined her enjoyment of it), and unearthed a biscotti recipe I thought might be capable of killing through pure deliciousness. However, she found it strange that I considered Peter to be my best friend.

"I mean, it's just so weird. Shouldn't your best friend be a woman?" she commented one afternoon.

I shrugged. "Like I said the other day, I'm uually just one of the boys. Before I moved to the City, all but two or three of my friends were guys. I was a huge tomboy growing up, and that hasn't changed much. I've only ever had a few girl-friends." Tanya nodded and returned to whatever she was doing with the mixer

Suddenly, I remembered something; the night I had been whisked away to Smallville, I had been on my way to visit one of those precious few girls. Samantha Whitcombe had been my best friend before that day, and I had disappeared without ever getting to say goodbye. What had happened to Sam after that? I didn't even know.

This drove home just how radically my life had changed- how _I_ had changed- over the last nine years. I would have been sad, but I thought that I had changed for the better. I was stronger, I was smarter. I'd learnt who I really could be if I didn't let my own ego get in the way. But I missed Samantha.

As the days passed, I settled into a regular routine. I would go to work, sit through the dull hours of collate-and-staple, and return home. Tanya usually arrived home before me, depending on what shift she was working, and due to her new determination to impress Peter with her fabulous baking skills there was usually something sugar-filled and fabulous in the small oven when I arrived. Once she'd removed said baked goods, one of us would set about making dinner. On the nights when Tanya cooked, we ate interesting things of the sort you might find on the menu of a fancy restaurant. On the nights when I cooked, we usually ate things of the sort you'd find on the menu of a Chinese takeout place. More specifically, I ordered takeout, because cooking was most definitely _not_ a skill of mine. Chocolate chip cookies or a cake from a mix was about the most I could manage without starting fires.

And despite the simple, orderly pattern my life had fallen into, I couldn't quite throw myself into it whole-heartedly. Part of me felt as though I was waiting for something, and no matter what I did to distract myself over the next few days, I was restless.

Each night as I lay in bed, staring up at the waterstained ceiling, I wondered what was missing. This was what I'd wanted when I'd left my old life behind, wasn't it? I had a job, friends I'd made for myself, a life I'd carved out for myself. That was exactly what I'd told Clark Kent I wanted for myself, and I'd gotten it in less than three weeks.

But deep down inside, I knew what was wrong. I had lived a life of intrigue and adventure for so long that returning to the humdrum of everyday life was nearly impossible. I missed the night patrols of Gotham, the random alien invasions, the crazy nights when Supergirl and Miss Martian would take me with them on flights to exotic locations for some hard-core partying. I missed the magic of that world.

Had I really made the right decision when I'd decided to leave behind the possibility of flight, the indestructible girl who had become my closest friend, and the dark cave beneath Gotham City where I had found a purpose?

I knew the answer to that question: of course I had. This was my world, the world where I'd been born. I belonged here, not that other place. But I had done a lot of growing up there; that place was a huge part of me.

Finally one night, exactly seventeen days after Barry Allen had deposited me in that alley in Queens, I came to a decision. I wasn't in that other world anymore. I had to learn how to be normal, and I had to learn how to exist in a world where evereyone was just ordinary. And I knew how to do it, too. I would find a piece of my past, to help me reconnect. I would find Samantha Whitcombe.

--

That resolution was easier made than accomplished, however. As it always seemed to be with mundane life, work got in the way. The campaign drew closer and closer to it's conclusion every day, and with it my work hours seemed to grow longer and longer.

My mind was still on finding Sam when the phone rang. "You've reached the Petrelli campaign headquarters, how may I help you?" I said cheerfully.

"Yes, could you put me on with Nathan Petrelli," the man on the other end demanded in a cultured voice.

"Certainly," I said, "and whom may I inform him is calling?"

"Tell him it's a representative of the Linderman Group." Again, the name sparked _something _in my memory, but whatever it was had gotten buried beneath years of mostly useless trivia. I flipped the phone the bird to vent my irritation, and punched the transfer code to Nathan's office.

"Someone from the Linderman Group on the phone for you, sir," I said, poking my head around the corner into his office, just as the call went through. He nodded and picked up the receiver. As he greeted the man on the other end cordially, Nathan made a dismissive gesture at me and I took it as my cue to get out.

But the puzzle of where I'd heard the name Linderman remained on my mind the rest of the day. God, why couldn't I remember why it sounded so familiar? It was a mystery, and one I embraced wholeheartedly. Even if I didn't have time to track down Samantha, no one would notice one little Google search made during work hours...

Quickly bringing up the search engine, I typed in "Linderman Group" and hit 'Enter'. The computer whirred softly and I waited tensely. After a moment, the screen flickered up with a list of search results. I clicked on the first link, silently thanking the Wikipedia Gods for their eternal benevolence bestowed through the miracle of the online encyclopedia.

I scrolled through the article, eyes widening as I read. The Linderman Group was pretty much the mob, disguised (as it always was) as a respectable business organization. There was no evidence however, beyond hearsay that anything the "company" did was beyond the pale.

Suddenly, a familiar name leaped out of the page at me. My jaw dropped as I read a brief paragraph. Nathan Petrelli, my _boss_, the current district attorney of New York, had recently mounted a case against the leader of the group, Daniel Linderman. Very little information was given on the subject, but it left me faintly intrigued. Maybe I'd ask Peter about it later...

And then, my attention was completely distracted, as another name caught my attention. Halfway down the page was a list of companies, corporations, and organizations funded or owned by the Group. Near the top of the list was Mercy Hospital in Chicago. My mother had been a doctor before she died... she had worked at Mercy Hospital. This was just too weird.

One of the most powerful lessons I'd had drummed into me by Bruce Wayne was that there was no such thing as a coincidence. Nathan Petrelli had attempted to prosecute Linderman, and was now receiving phone calls from people within the group. Linderman had signed my mom's checks. I now worked for Nathan. _Was_ it a coincidence? It did seem like a pretty huge leap to assume that this guy, who I'd never spoken to in my life, never heard of before a few weeks ago, had something to do with my working on this campaign. A pretty impossible leap indeed.

Ah well, Batman could be wrong. It had happened. Once. Or twice...

Mr. Sully, my eternally irritating supervisor, was making his way over to my desk, and I hurriedly closed down the internet connection, returning to the spreadsheet I'd been reorganizing earlier. No sense getting my ass chewed out if I didn't need it. And just like that, I pushed the weird coincidence out of my head for good.

I love being able to distract myself so easily.

--

When I arrived home that afternoon, Tanya was in a horrible mood. She was sitting in the middle of the living room floor, struggling ineffectually with a plastic couch cover. Her red-blonde hair was pulled back in a short ponytail and her brown eyes were flashing dangerously.

"Dammit!" she hissed, sucking her thumb where she had somehow managed to slice it open on the packaging. "Dianne, do you believe it?!"

"Um... believe what?" I asked, treading carefully. I had learned, in the two-and-a-half weeks I had lived with her, that although it was very rare for her to get angry, Tanya was deadly in a rage.

She hurled the couch cover across the room, grunting in fury. "We've got stupid roaches! Goddamn cockroaches!" She kicked at the sofa, causing it to skid and leaving new grooves in the worn floorboards. "The exterminator is coming in at ten tomorrow morning and we have to cover up all the furniture with plastic, and I can't figure out how to get this stupid thing on here!" she said without taking a breath.

"Ew," I muttered. I would never have admitted it to anybody, but I was mildly freaked out by cockroaches. Those and caterpillars. I wasn't really _afraid_ of them, and you would _never_ catch me up on a chair, screaming my ass off like some of those wimpy girls you run across. But still... ew.

I assisted Tanya in covering the sofa and chairs, and by the time we were finished I was frustrated enough to strangle the next person who mentioned bubble wrap, Saran wrap, or anything involving plastic. We dropped down together onto the couch, wincing as it squeaked under our weight. After a few minutes Tanya ventured, "Well, shall we try to scrape together something to eat before we cover up the kitchen table and stuff?" I nodded, and we went into the kitchen to try and find something edible.

In the end, we had to settle for a loaf of bread covered in cheese and microwaved for two minutes, because neither of us had thought of groceries lately and Tanya was sick of Happy Family Thai Takeout.

"There is _no_ way that should be so hard to do," Tanya said presently. I nodded my agreement, too busy enjoying the mozzarella to say anything. "You've got to promise me you'll be home tomorrow afternoon to help me take it all off again." I nodded again, still absorbed in the cheese.

--

After piling the dishes into the sink to be washed "later", Tanya grew bored very quickly. I had noticed this about her- she tended to lose interest pretty quickly. "What do you say we ask if Peter wants to come down and play some Monopoly or something," she suggested.

"Sure," I said absently. Sounded like a good idea to me. With Tanya's confirmed bachelorette status, and my social ineptitude at anything that wasn't either completely lame or far too wild for most people's tastes, evenings tended to get boring around our apartment. I went over to the cabinet to take out the game while Tanya ducked out of the apartment. She returned five minutes later with Peter close in tow.

"I heard a rumor there was a Monopoly tournament going down here," he said jokingly.

"Well you heard right," I said. I had already set up all the money in neat piles around the board, and the pieces were sitting in the middle of the table. "So, do you want to be the dog or the racecar?" Tanya laughed, and the two of them joined me around the table.

We shook the dice to see who would go first, and Tanya won the toss. She moved her piece- the racecar, naturally- along the board, keeping carefully in the _exact_ center of the squares. Tanya could be just a little bit OCD that way, and Peter and I teased her mercilessly.

"So," I commented after awhile, "who else heard that Bush got a shoe chucked at his face?" Tanya, who despite working in a coffeeshop (notoriously the gossip headquarters of America), hadn't heard this, got a huge kick out of the whole event. Peter just smiled quietly and bought Boardwalk out from under me. I groaned, wishing I had purchased it myself when I'd had the chance.

After a few minutes of highly competitive gaming (Tanya), mental swearing (me), and collection of huge sums of fake money (Peter), the conversation turned, of all things, to astrophysics.

"Did it ever occur to you," I said vaguely, "that the whole universe could just be a single atom in some infinitely huge place we don't even know exists?"

Tanya shivered. "Oh, that's a scary thought. Don't say stuff like that." I looked at Peter, who shrugged.

"I don't see how," I said. "I mean, think about it, even in just this universe we're infinitely tiny. But who even knows if there's something even bigger out there. We barely know anything about this universe as it is... dark matter and dark energy and black holes and stuff... it's all a mystery. And who's to know anything about other universes, or other dimensions or something?" Not entirely true. There _were_ other universes, and I'd been there. And there most definitely was intelligent life on other planets.

"That's a good point," Peter sad. "Makes you wonder what's out there, really. But when you think about it, it makes you feel realy insignificant, doesn't it?"

"Yeah," I said. "It's pretty crazy. I mean, every star in the universe is flying away from each other at pretty much light speed, and the galaxies are spinning almost that fast... it's mind-boggling."

Tanya suddenly decided to rejoin the conversation. "Olbers's paradox!" she exclaimed. Peter and I gave her quizzical looks. "Olbers's paradox was this theory that helped prove that the universe is expanding. Basically, if the stars weren't moving so fast and carrying their light away with them, the universe wouldn't be dark, it would be nothing but light."

I raised my eyebrows. "Wow," Peter breathed. I could tell by the look in his eyes that he was imagining a universe that didn't expand, full of nothing but blazing glory and light and more light, liquid fire... Hell, now _I_ was imagining it. It was a pretty cool picture to have in your head.

The game ran late into the night, and I lost horribly. Monopoly was a game that relied on strategy as much as luck, and while I might run high in the latter, I was sadly lacking in the former. However, I remained sitting at the kitchen table until almost midnight, determined to see who would win the fight-to-the-death between my roommate and my best friend. In the end, Tanya won when Peter landed on her triple-hotelled Euston Road and was unable to make rent.

--

**Another Note From Lara: Okay, in retrospect, this was a really weird chapter. I went from angst that was probably unnecessary, to my sad sad attempt at sowing seeds of Things To Come, to a random discussion of basic astrophysics. However, at least the last one I can explain. I had a conversation very similar to that one today, and just thought it was most definitely one of the random things that would just come up in a conversation between Dianne and... well, just about anybody.**

**Can you believe people get paid hundreds of thousands of dollars to sit around and discuss that kind of thing? If I were better at math, I would totally be an astrophysicist, because that stuff is _fascinating_.**

**Remember: reviews make me very very happy! (please review? pretty please?)**


	5. And Then They Found My Hero Gear

**A Note From Lara: Finally! A chapter in which Something Happens! I'm so proud of myself!**

**I have three or four major events I want to get accomplished in the week and a half before the eclipse, and finally I've done enough setup work to start the ball rolling!! After this, it should actually be an interesting story with a plot!**

--

_I yanked at the manacles binding my wrists, holding me half-sitting, half-standing against the cinderblock wall. But all my strength was gone, and I couldn't break free. Once, I could have torn through these cuffs in a second, ripped the metal right out of the wall, and twisted it into a sculpture while I was at it. _

_Now? I was weak. I had no power, and I was defenseless against the sure death that was creeping toward me. There was no hero to save me now. I bit my lips against the scream I felt welling up inside me. No, no I wouldn't go out crying. I was going to face death head-on and die bravely._

_Despite my best efforts a tear slid down my cheek, but I forced myself to stare straight into the deep gray eyes that bored into mine. The eyes begged forgiveness, broadcast a clear apology. I accepted, I understood that he had no choice. His own hunger drove him. _

_A hand reached out. A feather-light touch on my face was all the warning I had. My entire body burned... I was on fire, and my life was being consumed, torn out of me. My strength had already gone before... He'd taken that before... I was on fire._

_It hurt... everything hurt. I had never experienced pain like this, but still I didn't scream. I wanted to, oh I wanted to. But I was strong, I wouldn't give in to the terror. My vision swam, and still the pain rose in a crescendo of agony, rising and rising and I thought I would die._

_But oh no, not yet. I still had life in me, and until it had all drained away to feed his eternal hunger, the pain would not go away. Maybe... maybe if I screamed, he would hear me. Maybe he would save me..._

_My blood pounded in my ears and the dark cell faded away into the darkness that crept over the corners of my eyes. I opened my mouth, determined to make a sound, something to get his attention. Something to save them. To save me. Suddenly I lost the strength to keep supporting my weight and I slumped forward, deeper into his deadly embrace. My wrists in their manacles took my full weight, and all my life was going away and it was rushing out out out out and my bones were too weak, too weak... Through a haze of pain, I felt my bones shatter from the strain of holding me up in their weakened condition. _

_I fell through the darkness in my mind, landed against the cold face of the world and shattered. My body was still being drained... drained... drained... But my mind had shot free from my broken carcass and was reeling through the blackness between the stars._

_And god, I was still **burning**! Make it stop, oh god make it stop..._

I sat straight up in bed with a strangled cry. My hand flew to my face and I stared across the darkness of the room. In the mirror on the opposite wall, I caught sight of my reflection. I was pale and shaking. Sweat ran down my face and there was a sour taste in my mouth. I glanced at the alarm clock- it was just after three a.m.

After a few moments and several deep breaths, I had regained my composure if not my color. I had these dreams sometimes, worse each time. Thank god, they'd grown fewer since I'd returned to this universe. This was actually the first time I'd dreamt of _that_ day in over a month. Before, I'd been having them at least once a week.

I hated this. These night terrors made me feel so... weak. Besides my blue eyes, they were the only remnant of my encounter with the Parasite. He had drained me of the strength I had inherited in that other world, and put me in a coma for over two weeks. But Clark Kent had saved me that day, so why, nine years later, did I still wake up screaming?

I shook my head and went to the kitchen to find myself a glass of water. The bare floorboards were cold on my bare feet as I shuffled down the hall. The separation of mind and body as I lost consciousness was new, I thought as I reached up to get a glass. I hadn't relived that particular event before. At first, I had always awakened before the Parasite managed to get his hands on me. As the dreams got worse, the scene had progressed farther and farther. The remembered pain intensified with each time I succumbed to the dreams. But this was the first time I had felt the moment I fell into the darkness. I filled the glass with water from the tap.

What was wrong with me, that I couldn't deal with this? It was all in the past. Whole universes separated me and Raymond Jensen, but somehow my subconscious didn't know that. _Mind over matter, Dianne. Mind over matter. Bruce would be ashamed._

But then again, Batman probably wouldn't have been surprised- he had me more or less pegged from the day we met. And while I had excelled at all the physical things he taught me- hapkido, karate, jujitsu, all manner of ways to subdue or injure people- the mental things had never taken hold with me. I couldn't meditate, I was no good at controlling my emotions. Probably the only reason he'd kept me around was because I was a damn good investigator.

I sighed, sipping at the water. Immediately, I regretted it and made a face. The water smelled of chlorine and tasted metallic. "Teach me to drink tapwater in New York City," I muttered to myself. After dumping the glass out and setting it in the sink, I crossed to the tiny (brilliantly yellow) table Tanya had set beneath the kitchen window and sat down on the chair next beside it, staring out across the city. I knew I'd never get back to sleep, not tonight. Might as well do some people watching.

No such luck, courtesy of the time of day. Although lights were still on across the city, there was no sign of anyone stirring on the street below me. I turned my eyes upward, gazing through the sky. I'd always wanted to fly, so much when I was a very small girl I had cried because I couldn't. Kara had sometimes taken me flying, and from high above the earth, high above the clouds, the stars were so clear and bright it electrified your soul from the sheer beauty of it. Down here, beneath the glare of streetlamps, you couldn't see the stars.

I sighed again, rising from my seat. Looking out the window was kind of depressing, with the mood I was in.

I wandered aimlessly through the apartment, taking real stock of the other rooms for what was perhaps the first time. The kitchen was so vibrant and distracting that I had never really _looked_ at the other rooms for anything other than relief from the glare of all the yellow in the entrance to the apartment. Even with all the furniture covered in plastic, I could tell that Tanya had impeccable taste. I drifted from the living room to the hall, feeling content. But as I entered the hallway, I looked at the bare wall and frowned. The blank stretch of pale lavendar wallspace bothered me. Maybe I'd have to get something to put there. A decorative rug or a picture or something.

I returned to the kitchen and resumed my examination of the illuminated skyline. There I stayed until dawn.

--

When I arrived at the campaign office that morning, I was already in a bad mood. I had had a nearly impossible time getting the plastic cover over my mattress, and having lost half my night's sleep, I was tired despite the caffeine Tanya had thoughtfully pumped into my system. But nightmares and coffee were the least of my worries once I had shed my jacket and kicked off my shoes under the desk.

Mr. Sully waddled up to me, puffing slightly with the effort. "Mrs. Gordon had her baby last week," he said shortly. "She's coming back to work on the thirteenth of October to finish up the last stretch of the campaign for Mr. Petrelli. I want your things cleared out by the end of the day on October twelfth."

I nodded, grinding my teeth to keep myself from blurting out what I wanted to say: "Oh sure, because a guy running for Congress couldn't possibly just stick with a temp secretary on the campaign trail and give his regular a decent maternity leave." I was pretty sure that shooting off my mouth like that would shorten my employment, rather than extending it. Sully grunted at me and stumped away.

Could this day _get_ any worse? I should have known this would be a shitty day when Tanya announced we had roaches. I dropped my head down on my desk and groaned softly. How the hell would I be able to afford my half of the rent without a job? Probably I'd be able to find something else before my term of employment came to an end, but it would also probably be another short-term job. Was this what I'd come back for? Moving from crap job to crap job, trying desperately to find a way to pay the rent, not able to get a real job because what skills I had weren't exactly the type employers were looking for?

Briefly, I pondered the possibility of finding a way to call Barry Allen back to take me back to Gotham. Then I dismissed that idea. I'd miss Peter too much, and Tanya as well.

And just at the thought, my day suddenly felt much brighter. I had the one thing I'd secretly wanted for years- real friends. People who weren't only being nice to me because I hung out with Clark Kent. People who seemed to know me and still actually liked me, despite all my thorns and flaws.

I set about the usual tasks, shutting down my mind as I went through the day.

--

Six o'clock rolled around, and I punched out just after everyone else. Once I was sure that Sully was safely out the door, I doubled back to my desk.

Quickly, I logged back onto my computer, and connected to the internet. My fingers flew across the keyboard, typing out a name. My pinkie hit the 'Return' key, and I waited for a moment. Then a screen came up with a full listing: the current address and telephone number of Samantha Whitcombe.

God I love Yahoo People Search. Best thing on the internet.

I scribbled down the address and shut down the computer. I stuffed the scrap of paper into my jacket pocket and ran out through the revolving doors. Flagging down the first taxi I saw, I gasped out the address, which I was amazed to realize was right across the river in Jersey. The last time I had seen Sam, she had been living in her aunt's high-rise apartment in downtown Chicago.

I stared out the window, already picturing Sam's reaction. She'd be so surprised, more than likely she thought she'd never see me again, and here I was showing up at her house!

--

I knocked apprehensively on the door of the tiny condominium and waited. I fidgeted with the buttons on my coat as I heard footsteps approaching. The door swung open and an older version of the girl I had known stood there. Her dark, dark hair was shorter than I remembered it and her hazel eyes bore cares she hadn't had before, but it was still the same Sam I remembered. "Samantha?" I said hesitantly.

Her eyes narrowed in confusion. "Do I know you?" she asked. "I... yes, you look familiar. I know you, but who--?" I realized what the problem was suddenly- I looked entirely different than I had when she had last seen me. My hair, once platinum blonde, had darkened as I'd grown older; conversely, my eyes had been left drained of their pigment until they were clear blue. No wonder she had trouble placing me.

"Dianne," I said softly, pointing to myself.

Sam tilted her head sideways, apparently trying to put the name with the face. "Di--" And then it clicked. "Oh my god," she whispered. "Is that really you? Everybody thought you were dead! Where have you been all these years? Oh my god!"

I smiled at her stunned expression. "Yeah, it's really me. I finally did wind up at your house. Just... really late. The bus was nine years behind schedule." That got a slightly hysterical chuckle out of her. I noticed that she was dressed in a long formal dress; clearly she'd been getting ready to leave. "And as for where I've been... it's a really long story. You're obviously going somewhere, so maybe we should catch up, some other time?"

She nodded, and her expression suggested that maybe somebody had come up behind her and hit her over the head with something heavy. "Yeah," she said in an airless voice. "Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. How about... Thursday? Yeah, Thursday's good." I nodded, but before I had a chance to say anything more, she slammed the door shut.

I couldn't say I blamed her. It wasn't every day long lost childhood friends came back from "the dead." I knew I'd eventually have to come up with an explanation for where I'd been all these years, but at least I'd made the connection. Suddenly I felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I fairly skipped back to the waiting taxi, and I was grinning hugely as I slid into the back seat.

If I'd known what was waiting for me back at the apartment, maybe I'd have been slightly less eager to arrive back there.

--

Peter knocked on Dianne's apartment door. She had mentioned that her apartment was being de-roached that afternoon, and he'd overheard Tanya complaining loudly the night before about some difficulty she'd had with the plastic couch cover. He knew all too well Dianne's hot temper and Tanya's own fiery disposition, and if both of them were to come out of the evening alive, he was very sure they'd need a mediator.

Several seconds later, Tanya ripped open the door. Her strawberry hair was sticking out at crazy angles, with much of it falling into her face. There was a slightly panic-stricken look in her eyes as she struggled to extract herself from a large sheet of plastic. "Oh Peter, thank _god_ you're here! Dianne promised she'd come home in time to help me take this stuff off the furniture, but she got off work an hour ago and she's still not here!"

Peter cocked his head in surprise. That didn't sound like Dianne, letting her friends down. She might fly off the handle with little warning, but if there was one thing you could count on Dianne for, it was just that- you _could_ count on her to be totally dependable. "Are you sure she's off work?" he asked.

"Yeah," Tanya said. "She gets off at six. It's seven-fifteen. Then again, who needs Dianne? I can manage it. Or... _you_ could help me, if you don't mind." She bit her lip and stared up at him hopefully. He nodded.

"Sure. I've got nothing better to do," he said, grinning.

"Apparently the stupid cockroaches were in the floor under Dianne's room and the exterminator had to pry up a bunch of flooboards to get at them," Tanya said as she led him down the hall. As they entered Dianne's room, Peter saw what she meant; six boards had been removed and were lying in a pile in the corner. He was mildly surprised that the exterminator hadn't replaced them.

Tanya grasped the edge of the plastic that covered Dianne's bed and gestured to Peter to help her. He quickly hurried over, stepping over the hole in the floor. They struggled with the tightly sealed cover for several minutes before Peter's end popped off the mattress without warning. Suddenly losing all her resistance, Tanya lost her balance. The tiny blonde tumbled backward with a squeak, and landed right in the gap in the floor.

Peter rushed to help her up. "Hey, are you okay?" he asked, concerned. Tanya nodded, smiling gratefully at him and taking his proffered hand. As she used her other hand to lever herself out of the hole, she felt something beneath her hand. Once she was safely back on her feet, she reached down into the gap and pulled out the object.

Or rather, objects. It was a large plastic bag full of several items, which Tanya extracted and spread across Dianne's mattress. She looked down at the objects, and then up at Peter, who was equally surprised by what he was seeing. "What is this?" he asked quietly.

--

I turned the key in the lock, pushing the door open. "I'm home!" I called cheerfully. And suddenly, my good mood was punctured by the sight of Peter and Tanya sitting at the kitchen table, and the large wad of plastic in the middle of the kitchen floor. Their eyes bored into me; Tanya's were accusing, and Peter simply looked disappointed and seriously confused. "Oh shit," I hissed. "Tanya, I'm sorry! I totally forgot, I ran into a friend I haven't seen in years and it just slipped my mind. I promise, make it up to you, I..."

I trailed away as I saw what the two of them had strewn across the table between them. It was all the gear I'd brought back with me. The gear I'd stashed in the floorboards. Oh, I was _so_ toast...

--

**Another Note From Lara: I love cliffy endings!**


	6. Full Disclosure

**A Note From Lara: Another chapter in which Something Happens! It's a record for this fic! **

--

Despite myself, I gulped. This was _so_ not good. I could not believe they'd found my bag of gear I'd nicked from the Batcave! For that matter, _how_ had they found it? I'd made very sure that the loose floorboard was completely indistinguishable.

"What the hell, Dianne?" Tanya asked, rising to her feet and flipping her straight hair back over her shoulder in the way she did when she was angry. She shook the bag in her face, and I had the sense that she'd been left to brood over my things for rather too long. "I mean, what _is_ this stuff, Dianne? This is the kind of stuff you only see in, like, spy movies! And I really want to trust you, but you've only been my roommate for like three weeks, and... Well, I tried to come up with every explanation there could possibly be. For awhile, we thought they might be props or something for... I don't know. But these... the blades on some of those knives in there are really sharp. Although..." She paused, momentarily distracted by something in her own head. "...some of the stuff in there is _really_ cool..."

She shook her head. "But whatever. I don't know what this is or what you're up to, but seriously? It looks like you're planning a raid on the Pentagon or something."

That elicited a laugh from me. "Are you kidding me? Breaking into the Pentagon would be _easy_. There are maximum security facilities you don't even know _exist_ that I might actually need that stuff for. Actually," I said, in an aside that I guess was mostly for my own benefit, "_I'm_ not entirely sure they exist." At the look on Tanya's face, my hotshot feel ebbed away. "I'm just digging myself deeper into the hole, aren't I?" I said, directing the question at Peter.

He nodded, and gave me a desperate look. "What... is this, Dianne?" he asked softly. The distressed, confused expression on his face, like a kicked puppy, made my resistance crumble. He was my best friend; as a matter of fact, Samantha aside he was the best friend I'd ever had. Ever. How could I make him doubt me, make him think I was some kind of terrorist?

I sat down at the table, and gestured to Tanya. "Sit down. It's kind of a long story. But I should warn you, you're not going to believe me, not in a million years. Actually, looking back, I'm not even sure _I_ believe me." Tanya gave me her patented "wanna bet?" expression and leaned back in her chair, arms folded.

God, what was I doing? I'd never planned on telling anyone this! Ever! _Come on Dianne, come up with some explanation. Say that your parents used to be super-spies or something, and they died on a mission and those are your only reminders of them is some of their gear... Nah, that was total bull and I knew it. They'd never buy that. _I opened my mouth, and began my tale.

"Nine years ago, I was just an ordinary kid living in Chicago. Troublemaker. Comic book freak. Shuffled between foster homes like the ace of spades in a game of hearts. I was on my way to visit a friend, but I stopped on the lakefront first. I was looking over the water, lost my balance and fell. The next thing I knew, I was in this... other place. A man came to me and told me that I was there to save the universe, that there was someone who was incredibly important to the world who had a choice to make. He said that if he made the wrong choice, the whole universe would suffer, and that he'd chosen me to guide him to the right end, because I _knew_ the end of the story. He shoved me in the chest, and the next thing I knew, I was waking up in a back alley in Metropolis."

"Metropolis--?" Peter asked hesitantly. He looked like he maybe knew what I meant, but wasn't sure that he was hearing what he thought he was. I sure knew the feeling.

"Yeah. As in Superman. Did you guys ever see the TV show Smallville?" They nodded simultaneously. "Well, I was _there_. Lana Lang, Chloe Sullivan, Lois Lane. Kara Zor-El and Lex Luthor, the whole package. And I was there to help Clark Kent accept his destiny to become Superman. It... he proved... stubborn."

Tanya raised her eyebrows. "I _see_. And there's actually somebody anywhere that's a match for you in sheer mulishness?" God, did she have me pegged or what? But she still didn't sound like she believed me. "In the end, I did fulfill _my_ destiny and helped Clark accept his. He went to the Fortress of Solitude and completed his training with Jor-El."

I took a deep breath before continuing. This was something I'd never told anybody, not even M'gann, and she could read minds. "I was offered the chance to come home, right then. I'd only been gone two months, it would have been easy to say that somebody abducted me. But I didn't want to come back, because for the first time in my life I was... special. Sure, I'd gained and lost super-strength in a matter of weeks, but there was still... the promise of magic there, you know? I stayed there eight more years.

"It was a crazy time. My closest friend was Supergirl. I got attacked by Brainiac. Alien invasions all over the place. The Justice League was just emerging, and I spent six years training with Bruce Wayne. Martial arts, advanced hacking, weapons training... the works. Then, last month, I decided that it was time to come home."

"Why?" Peter asked. "It sounds like you got the best end of the deal. Why did you give that up?"

A small smile crossed my lips. Of _course_ Peter would ask something like that. Luckily, for once I actually knew the answer. "I would help the League sometimes, but for the most part I just worked in the local coffeeshop. It wasn't a life anybody would really envy. Because honestly? In a world of aliens, of people with almost superhuman physical skills, _I_ was the freak. The outsider. The one who didn't belong. And I couldn't keep up; I wasn't... strong enough. Frankly, nobody _normal_ can keep up with Kara Zor-El except maybe ol' Bats himself and as much as I wish otherwise, I'm definitely not him." _Ha, look at me, talking about 'normal' the way Clark used to. Boy, would he get a kick out of this..._

"I wanted a life of my own," I said simply.

As I finished my tale, Peter looked pensive, and I wondered if maybe he actually believed me. Tanya, on the other hand, was another matter entirely. "Oh yeah? And you actually expect us to believe this crap?" she said, crossing her arms.

I shot her my best "bring it" stare, and said, "Not really. I told you you'd never believe me, and that was what I expected. Whatever you want to believe, it's the truth. And I don't really have any way to prove it to you, except..." Suddenly, an idea occurred to me. "Tanya, get your laptop! Run a Google search on my name!" Tanya gave me an odd look, but crossed the room to the table beneath the window and picked up the computer.

Her fingers tapped across the keys briefly, typing in her security code. Then she handed the laptop to me. I brought up the internet, and with Peter and Tanya both peering intently over my shoulder, I searched 'Dianne Li Morten'. After a moment, the search results appeared on the screen. I clicked the first link, an online news archive created by the Chicago Sun-Times.

I paged through the article, briefly surprised by the content. Apparently, when I had vanished without a trace, there had been an Amber Alert put out and a widespread manhunt ensued. There was some controvery about some kind of surveillance tapes as well, it seemed. Accompanying the article was a black and white photo of me at age fifteen. I hadn't really changed all that much, aside from the hair and eyes, and in black and white that was barely noticeable. I heard Tanya gasp behind me as she surveyed the article.

"This picture..." Peter pointed over my shoulder. I nodded, and clicked a link to YouTube labeled 'surveillance footage'. Once the page had loaded, a slightly grainy image of that fateful gray afternoon on south Michigan Avenue appeared on the screen. It showed a blonde girl- a much younger me, before my hair darkened- losing her balance and falling toward Lake Michigan. But before she hit the surface of the water, she just... vanished.

It was eerie, watching myself like this. Where had a security camera been mounted, that it had just happened to catch the most important moment of my life on tape? It seemed slightly suspicious to me, but I couldn't figure out what, exactly, it was that bothered me about it.

"Okay," Tanya conceded, "So you've proved that a girl who looks just like you vanished literally into thin air nine years ago. What does that prove?" Peter looked at her incredulously, and I could tell he'd been convinced. But then, Peter tended to trust people too much anyway, so that wasn't really surprising.

How else could I convince Tanya? Because right now, my continued status as homeowner depended entirely on convincing her that I wasn't crazy or a threat to public safety. "Come on," I said, another idea suddenly occuring to me. "I have another idea that might help you believe me." A wicked grin spread across my face as I seized the bag of tools.

--

Five minutes and a hike up twelve stories worth of stairs, we were standing on the roof of the apartment building. "Alright you guys," I said, pulling on my gauntlets and strapping my own (far more stylish) version of Bruce's utility belt around my waist. "Don't freak out when I do this. I'll be fine, I've done it a zillion times before." Peter and Tanya stood behind me, watching as I walked to the edge of the roof and peered down. Eighteen stories... it wasn't exactly a far drop, so I'd have to work fast. God, this would've been so much easier to do uptown, from a much taller building.

I backed up, wiggling my fingers slightly within the gauntlets to dispel the small misgivings that occasionally rose up when I did this. I took a deep breath and ran at the short ledge that separated me from a hundred-yard fall. With an acrobatic leap, I threw myself off the edge and executed a perfect forward tuck as I did so. A small smile crossed my lips at the adrenaline rush I got from this freefall, and the shriek of terror I heard Tanya give. Then, looking up and taking careful aim at the building across the street, I pressed a button within the gauntlet and a launch line shot across the intervening space. It buried itself in the masonry above the building. Judging the distance carefully, I angled my feet forward so that I was falling backwards. And then the line retracted, tautened, and I was pulled toward the building across the street, skimming just above a passing taxi. There was an alley just to the left of where my anchor was fastened in the building, and I made the tiny adjustment that would assure that I would shoot straight into the alley. As I passed between the buildings, I did a quick twist and flipped myself up onto the roof of the building, landing squarely on my feet.

I always loved doing this shit. It made me feel like Spiderman or something. What can I say? I'm an adrenaline addict. I'd need to work out a little though; I had felt some of the strain on my arms this time.

Running up to the edge of the building, I waved jauntily across at Tanya and Peter, who were gaping open-mouthed at me from the opposing building. I gave them a thumbs-up, and launched myself across the gap of the alley to the building on the other side. There, I shinnied down the drainpipe that emptied into the alley, and crossed back across the street with an easy, seemingly carefree stride.

Two minutes later, I was on top of our building with them. "How did-- how did you do that?" Peter asked.

"I told you- I studied with Batman," I said patiently. "You can learn all kinds of cool stuff from Bruce Wayne. Want me to hook your computer up to receive transmissions from the Mars Rover? I'll do it."

"Uh, no that's okay," Tanya said in a breathless, stunned voice. "I believe you." Well, that was definitely more than I'd expected. The most I'd been hoping for was them _not_ calling to report a terrorist suspect.

"Um.... okay," I said. "Look, if you guys want me to, like, go away for a few hours or something to give you time to... process or whatever... I will. This is kind of a big thing to find out, and..." I trailed away as something occurred to me. "God," I exclaimed. "This is just how Clark would sound every time somebody found out about the whole E.T. deal. I used to call him a loser for worrying about what people would think. It's a much different view from this side of the secret."

"Yeah. I guess so," said Tanya. "Listen, you stay here. I'm gonna go, um, get a coffee. You coming Peter?"

He shook his head. "I think I'll stay here," he said. Tanya nodded, looking seriously freaked out. She practically ran away down the stairs; a few minutes later I spotted her walking quickly down thesunlit street. "Will that girl _ever_ get too much coffee in her system?" I wondered aloud. Peter snorted; clearly he'd noticed Tanya's caffeine addiction too.

I perched on the edge of the roof, once again looking out across the city, sparkling in the dying sunlight. Silence descended. All that could be heard was the shriek of a wind that sprang up from the harbor, and the usual hum and rush of traffic.

"I never meant to tell anybody about this," I said after several minutes of pensive quiet. I turned to Peter, and saw that he was now sitting on the ledge next to me, watching me intently. "I've always loved secrets, and I just liked having one that nobody else knew about. My special, magical years that nobody else would ever find out about." I bit my lip before continuing. "And... I guess I was kind of scared. People would think I was crazy, or on drugs, or lying to hide some horrible thing. I can take being mistrusted, but feared? Or locked up? I'd go crazy."

God, Peter was doing it again, that thing he did. He would just sit there, listening quietly to whatever I happened to be saying, and I'd find myself spilling my most secret thoughts. It ticked me off immensely. "What the hell am I telling you all this for?" I muttered. "It's not like I need to dump all my issues on you."

He shrugged. "Everybody needs a confidante," he said. I considered that for a moment, and decided that he had a point. After all, Clark had Chloe. Kara had Clark. For much of my childhood, I'd had Sam. We continued to sit in silence for a long time, as the sun set slowly behind us. Several hours passed.

"You remind me of him," I said vaguely, half in response to my own thoughts.

"Who?" Peter asked.

"Clark. You're a lot like him. Selfless, you know? He dedicated his life to saving the planet; you're saving the world one person at a time," I explained.

Peter laughed. "Yeah, but given the chance, I kind of doubt I'd be willing to go running around in spandex. And not just because of the costume, either. It would be too... too..."

"Too public?" I said, a grin spreading across my face. "He thought so too. All he wanted was to just live on the farm in Smallville for the rest of his life. You really _are_ like him."

"You really did know Superman, didn't you?" Peter said, slightly wondering.

I sighed. "Yeah. I did. But honestly, I don't think he actually liked me too much. I'm far too pushy. I got focused on shoving him out into the spotlight, and forgot that he wasn't just a hero, he was a person, too. That was my mistake, and it almost cost me my life," I said, once again proving that Peter made me say things I never meant to. "And not just my life, either. So now you know everything there is to know about me. I screwed up- screwed up _bad_- and I spent the next eight years trying to make up for it."

"Is that really all there is to know about you?" Peter said. It wasn't a question, it was a challenge. Damn him, he _knew_ I could never back down from a challenge.

"Probably not," I said, disguising my irritation under a feral grin. "But it's all you're likely to figure out anytime soon." We laughed at that, and after awhile, we went inside to greet Tanya when she arrived home.

--

**Another Note From Lara: I had planned on another section to this chapter, but I'm trying to keep them all approximately the same length (although that resolution will go straight to pot soon enough, but whatever), and the section I was adding was WAY too long. **

**Anyway, hope this was an acceptable update, and PLEASE review!**


	7. Samantha and Simone

**A Note From Lara: Sorry about the slow updates. I've been super-busy, even during vacation (what is that about, anyway?) One week until the eclipse! Are you guys excited? But first- a homicide and an ominous painting... And then things will actually pick up and get interesting! **

**Again, I have to thank all of you who are faithfully following my wannabe masterpiece! It's been slow, I know, and you all deserve huge virtual cookies for sticking with me. But I faithfully promise that I have big things planned for this story, and once I REALLY get started, it's going to be a helluva ride (I hope).**

--

For the next few days, life settled back into the usual routine. Tanya asked probing questions practically every few minutes- such things as what was it like to fly, and did Bruce Wayne use designer mousse- but other than that, she seemed to have recovered quite well from her initial shock.

I couldn't have been happier. My friends knew the truth about me and weren't running screaming for the hills. I had a (temporary) job that paid decently; I even had a savings account now. I'd already saved up three hundred dollars that I'd siphoned off the top of the portion of my weekly paycheck that didn't go toward rent. Yeah, life was sweet, and as far as I could see, it was smooth sailing from here on out.

Shows you how much I know.

Thursday rolled around, and as I sat behind my desk that afternoon, I began to fret. It wasn't like me to get stressed out over something as trivial as my meeting with Sam, but seriously what do you even say to someone you haven't seen in years and who thought you were dead? I mean, do you open with a joke, or bring up something from your childhood? And was I supposed to tell her the truth about where I'd been all these years? Sure, Tanya and Peter had believed me, but for _some reason_ I had a sneaking suspicion that they were the exception, not the rule. There was no guarantee that Sam wouldn't just call the nearest psyche ward.

So if I wasn't telling her I'd spent the last nine years as a Gotham City crimefighter, what _was_ my cover story? That I'd been taken hostage by a crazed kidnapper who'd used me as a sex slave? Nah. I had issues, sure, but not _that_ many issues. I fell and hit my head and had amnesia and just now regained my memory? That might tie in with the video footage. But somebody would have found me wandering around, if that was the case. So that didn't hold water...

I was so busy chewing through a succession of pencils in my anxiety that I didn't notice Peter walking in just as the office was beginning to close down. "Hey," he said, grinning, "Something bothering you?" I tossed aside the third pencil I'd ruined for futher use in disgust, both at myself and at the pencil manufacturers for making such a cheap, easily damaged product. They really should do something about the quality of pencils.

"Nothing, really," I sighed. "Just, I'm reconnecting with one of my childhood friends today and I'm freaking out a little bit. I mean, I don't even know why I'm so worried. She was my best friend before that whole alternate-universe thing happened, it's not like I'm going to meet the President or something. But I just keep thinking that she'll get weirded out by the whole thing if I tell her the truth. And if I don't, will she actually believe whatever crapass lie I come up with to cover the past nine years? If she doesn't, what--"

My panicked flow of words was stopped by Peter putting his finger over my mouth, effectively shutting me up. "Sorry," I said when he removed his hand. "I should just come with a mute button, shouldn't I?"

Peter laughed. "I think anybody would be a little unnerved in your situation. I mean, nine years of her thinking you were... dead or whatever... isn't really something you can just pretend never happened. Look, if it'll make it easier, do you want me to come with you?"

I shrugged. "It's okay. I'll be fine. You've probably got plans already, with your brother or something."

"No, let me come. For... emotional support," Peter insisted, giving me that I'm-here-for-you expression he pulled off so well.

I caved, of course. What else could I do? Just tell him (though not in so many words) that I didn't want his help and he could just go get lost? And that was how, twenty minutes later, we found ourselves in a taxi driving through the Tunnel on our way to New Jersey.

--

I could tell immediately when we reached Sam's condo that there was something wrong. A posse of six NYPD squad cars scattered along the immediate vicinity, lights flashing, tends to be a tipoff.

As I stepped out of the taxi, Peter right behind me, I felt a stirring of apprehension in my gut. No, something was definitely wrong here. I ran up to the police barricade and peered into Sam's driveway.

What I saw there was enough to set my stomach churning and I closed my eyes, breathing hard. I clutched the barricade, white-knuckled, trying to erase the image from my mind. _Maybe if I pretend it's not real, when I open my eyes it will be gone_. I opened my eyes. Nope, definitely still there. I'd been to plenty of crime scenes, seen more than my share of dead bodies, but this... this was just _sick_.

Samantha lay sprawled in the driveway in a pool of blood. Her spine was twisted at an unnatural angle and several bones in her arms had snapped clear through the skin. But that wasn't the gross part. The top of her head was lying several feet away from the rest of her, and her brain was missing.

I spun away in shock, turning directly into Peter. He wrapped one arm around me and I pressed my face into his chest, desperate for human comfort. I had seen crime scenes before, but it had never been anyone I _knew_. I heard Peter gasp as he saw the grisly scene over my shoulder, and he clapped his free hand over his mouth in horror. "Oh my _god_..." he whispered.

"Hey! Move along folks, nothing to see here," said a voice from behind me. I turned around to see a woman with an FBI badge. Her short blonde hair and freckled face gave me the impression of a small, fierce terrier.

"What happened to her?" I whispered.

"That information is classified," the woman said. "Just get out of here, okay? The last thing we need around here is more ogglers."

That was _not_ a problem, I thought. The only thing I wanted in the whole world at that moment was to get far far away from there. "Come on," I whispered to Peter.

Numbly, I walked back to the taxi and got in. Peter slid in beside me and shut the door. I sat silently as the driver pulled away, but my brain was screaming. Sam was my best friend the whole time I was growing up. And now, she was just... gone. I hadn't seen her in years, but to lose her like this was still... Oh my god.

Tears pricked at my eyes. Not wanting Peter to see, I turned away to stare out the window at the quaint suburban neighborhood as it passed by. So serene, so unaware of what had happened just around the corner... I wiped away the traitorous tear that had somehow crept down my cheek. I didn't cry. Ever.

"Dianne?" Peter said softly. "That was... that was Sam?" I nodded, not able to trust my burning throat and still facing the window. "Are you okay?"

I whipped around, channeling all the pent-up emotion into anger. Anger was something I could deal with; grief wasn't. Shooting Peter a glare that would have melted granite, I snarled, "No, of course I'm not okay! I just saw my childhood friend lying on the ground with her head ripped off. Why would I be okay?"

Peter just sighed. We lapsed into silence for a few moments, and I returned to staring out the window. But suddenly I felt really bad. Peter had just been trying to help; it wasn't his fault Sam was lying there... No. I cut off that train of thought. If I pictured Sam's broken body, I knew I wouldn't be able to hold back the tears. But that still didn't give me the right to yell at him like that. "I'm sorry," I muttered, turning, shame-faced, back to him.

"It's okay to cry," he said, understanding. And that did it. I burst into hysterical tears, and Peter just put his arms around me and let me sob. It wasn't just Sam, although her death took the lion's share of my grief. It was everything- this world that didn't seem to _need_ me the way that other world had; the fact that in just over two weeks I'd be out of a job... again. But it always circled back to Sam, and just when I thought I'd gotten control of myself, my traitorous mind conjured up an image of her lying there, shattered into a million pieces, and I would break down once again.

And through it all, Peter just let me cry, holding me gently in his arms and not saying a word. _He's the best friend a girl could have_, I thought to myself at one point.

Finally, I managed to stop the flow of tears. Pulling away from Peter's embrace, I wiped at my eyes and said, "Sorry. I don't normally lose control like that." It was true. The last time I had cried had been my sixth birthday. The night my parents died.

Peter nodded, like he knew what I was thinking, a sad half-smile curling across his face. "It'll be okay," he said. "I know it's hard when people die."

"Yeah," I said, beginning to recover my composure very quickly, "I guess we both know something about that. I mean, you've dedicated your life to taking care of dying people. And as for me... well, you run across a lot of pretty horrible things as a vigilante." Peter grimaced, no doubt picturing a parade of crime scenes every bit as disturbing as the one we'd just come from."

Suddenly, I realized that the taxi had just pulled up in front of our apartment. I dug through my purse and pulled out a fifty and handed it to the driver. "Keep the change," I muttered. Not that I could afford it, but after what had happened, I didn't have the patience to wait as he counted out bills.

Peter and I parted ways at my apartment. I waited outside the door until I heard his snap shut on the floor above, and then raced up the stairs to the roof.

The afternoon sunlight hurt my bloodshot eyes as I emerged onto the roof. I crossed to the back edge of the roof, the one that didn't look over the street, and watched as the sun sank below the skyline. Hours, I sat there, thinking about Sam, about the way something about her death didn't seem to make sense. I couldn't put my finger on just _what_, but there was... something. And honestly? I didn't really trust the FBI to figure it out. Bunch of lunkheads, compared to the crimefighters I was used to, truth be told. And as I watched the sun grow fat and red as it neared the horizon, a resolution began to form in my heart. _I'd_ solve Sam's murder, on my own. _I'd_ get to the bottom of this. That was what I did best, after all- I investigated.

The setting sun cast a dim orange light across the city, turning the sky brilliant shades of red and purple as the smog caught the glow. I turned my face toward the last rays of light shining back across the horizon and closed my eyes, watching the patterns the red light made across the inside of my eyelids.

It felt good to have a purpose again. A _meaningful _one. Because let's face it: filing reports for some big-wig government guy is _not_ my idea of a fulfilling job. It didn't help that my opinion of the elder Petrelli wasn't exactly the highest. I don't think you can like your job if your boss is an asshole.

After the sun had set, I returned inside, down to the apartment. When Tanya saw my tearstreaked face, she immediately became concerned, and wouldn't leave me alone until I'd explained in full what had happened. At my description of Sam's injuries, she clapped her hands over her mouth. "Omigod, that is so _gross_," she gasped. "What kind of sicko would _do_ that?"

I shrugged. "I don't know, but I'm sure as hell going to find out."

--

The next few days passed relatively peacefully. I read the police reports on Samantha's death, and scanned the paper for news on her murder. But nothing sparked any particular curiosity, and I seemed to have hit a dead end for awhile. It happened, sometimes. I'd eventually be inspired and find a way around the hypothetical roadblock.

In the meanwhile, Peter made several painfully obvious attempts to keep my mind off such morbid topics as murder. As I was getting off work, three days after Sam's murder, he came up to me and said, "Hey Dianne, there's a gallery opening just a couple blocks uptown. I know the woman who owns the gallery, and she tipped me off that there're some really spectacular pieces in this show. You want to go have a look?"

I shrugged. I had nothing better to do, and nothing new had turned up in my investigation. "Why not?"

Despite the faint chill of winter in the air, we walked the few short blocks to the gallery in question. Peter, always the gentleman, opened the door for me.

The main room of the gallery was fairly unremarkable, just like any other art gallery around the world. Off-white walls, pale hardwood floors. Pedestals of varying heights rose sparsely throughout the room with sculptures and pottery on them, and hundreds of unframed canvases were scattered across the walls. Halogen bulbs ensconced in small artsy lights, hung from the ceiling, brilliantly illuminating the whole room. Soft piano music filtered from hidden speakers somewhere in the ceiling.

Peter and I wandered around the room, idly surveying the artwork. I quickly discovered that he had as little knowledge of fine art as I did. The only thing I knew about painting was that the Mona Lisa stared at you, and that was pretty much it. But despite this handicap, I found several paintings that took my interest, mostly the kind of art that makes you _think_. Peter, on the other hand, seemed to have a taste for really abstract stuff, with plenty of color and not a whole lot of form.

"Peter?" asked a voice incredulously. I turned around to see who had spoken, and as I did so, I noticed that Peter had suddenly frozen in place. I surveyed the woman before me. She was African-American, with unusual green-hazel eyes, and unlike almost every other woman I met, she was on eye level with me. She was tastefully dressed, and had a friendly, open face. She was also incredibly beautiful.

"Simone!" Peter said in surprise. "Uh... Dianne, this is Simone Deveaux. She's my patient's daughter, and she owns this gallery. Simone, this is Dianne Morten." He seemed suddenly quite awkward, although he hid it well.

A knowing smile curled across Simone's beautiful face. "I take it she's your girlfriend?" she asked.

Noticing that Peter seemed slightly speech-deprived, I answered for him. "Not a chance," I said, laughing. "Peter's more like my best friend." I glanced at Peter, and noticed him nodding vigorously to confirm this fact.

"Yeah. She lives in my building, and she's working on Nathan's campaign, and so we see a lot of each other," he explained. A faint tightness around his eyes hinted that perhaps he regretted his wording.

Simone smiled, and seemed about to say something else when someone called her name from across the room. "Excuse me," she said, turning away. "It was good to run into you, Peter." He nodded, watching her go.

After a few moments of silence, once Simone was out of earshot, I turned squarely to face him. "So _that's_ why you're still single!" I said, unable to stop a smirk from unfolding across my face.

--

**Next time: Dianne attempts to give Peter love advice, and they discover an impossible work of art.**

**Remember, reviews make me very very happy! :)**


	8. I've Two Futures, and Neither Looks Good

**A Note From Lara: Hey, thanks for all your great reviews! Everybody gets virtual pie! _Peach_ pie! ;)**

**In my descriptions of Isaac's paintings, words can only do so much (shocking, but true), so just try to picture Isaac's painting style and you'll probably get a decent idea of what they look like. Maybe if she has time, I'll have my artist friend sketch them...**

--

"What?" Peter blinked, and shifted his balance unconsciously. Defensive posture. Seems I touched a nerve. I tend to do that.

"You _know_ what," I said. "Simone. It's obvious you're crazy about her."

Peter shrugged, crossing his arms as he did so, and stared across the room at Simone as she chatted with an elderly man who seemed interested in buying one of the paintings. "I... guess I am," he admitted hesitantly. "But it would be so... unprofessional. I mean, I'm her father's nurse. It wouldn't be right."

I raised my eyebrows and cocked my hand against my hip, challenging him. "And since when has that ever stopped anybody in the name of love?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, if you want her, go get her!" I said, gesturing across the room. "Faint heart never won fair lady."

Peter seemed torn between insane laughter and complete umbridge. After a few moments of struggling with himself, he finally said, "No offense, Dianne, but you're not exactly the person I want to talk to about this."

I could accept that. "Yeah, that's probably smart. My track record with relationships isn't exactly the best." Tell me about it. My taste in guys was definitely... unique. I'd dated a few ordinary guys that I'd met around Smallville, but I found most of them fairly boring and unimaginative. Must be a small-town thing. And as for the rest of my relationships... Well, let's just say that I'm drawn to really nice guys who turn out to be very, very evil.

"But it still wouldn't hurt to be a little less subtle," I pointed out. "I mean, Mr. Deveaux's gonna die sometime and then all bets are..." I trailed away at the look on Peter's face. "Can you give me a minute to take my foot out of my mouth?" I had to stop doing that. Tact was a very useful life skill, as Bruce had told me over and over again.

"It's okay," Peter said. "I'm a hospice nurse. The whole point is that my patients _are_ going to die." I nodded, and an awkward silence fell.

My eyes roamed across the gallery as I tried to come up with something to say that wouldn't make the change of topic painfully obvious. I scanned the paintings, trying to find one that would be interesting to our radically different tastes. There, that one on the opposite wall was...

"Peter, look at that!" I gasped, pointing. Without waiting for his response, I seized his arm and dragged him across the room to stand in front of a series of three paintings, all by the same artist. "_Look_ at that!"

"What is it?" he asked, before suddenly becoming silent.

"Does that look like who I think it does?" I asked softly. Peter nodded, and we stared up at the three paintings before us.

The first showed a dark-haired woman with bright blue eyes. She was wearing a black outfit with white boots and cape. A black domino mask covered the area around her eyes, and the center of her chest was highlighted with a white eight-pointed star. She stood, silhouetted against the moon on top of the Brooklyn Bridge. Her stance was firm, defiant. And she was... me. She looked like me. That was _my_ costume, perfect in every detail. Her blue eyes seemed to stare straight into my own as I gazed up at the picture.

"Peter... that's me," I whispered.

"I know," he said.

The middle painting depicted the same brunette woman. In this image, she was only seen in profile, half of the painting filled by her face and torso Her expression was focused and angry, a confrontational glare. I recognized this expression, having seen it on my own face all too often. The other half of the painting was taken up by the upper body of another woman. This petite girl had straight blonde hair, with long bangs falling into her electric, deep-blue eyes. Her teeth were bared and her tiny hands were balled into fists. Blue lights danced from her hands. Their faces were inches apart, and in the tiny space between them, a sunlit street could be seen.

The third and final painting was another one of the woman who looked like me. She was sitting in civilian clothes on a park bench, reading a copy of the Chicago Sun-Times. Her eyes were closed and tears streamed down her cheeks. The reason for her sadness was plain in the headline of the paper in her hand- _Nuclear Bomb Devastates New York City_. Behind her, a city in ashes could be seen, with remnants of familiar buildings.

"Oh my _god_," I whispered. "What is this?" I turned to stare at Peter, and he looked back at me in mild shock.

"It's a pretty freaky coincidence," he said.

I narrowed my eyes. "I don't believe in coincidences," I said firmly, and bent to examine the placards beneath the series. There was one main plate that titled the series. It read: _Divergent Future_, a three-painting series by Isaac Mendez. Materials: canvas, acrylics.

Each of the individual paintings had a placard of it's own, containing the title and the artist's name. The first was titled "The Vigilante." The middle one, the one with the two women, was called "Flashpoint." The final one was called simply "Apocalypse."

"What do you think this means? 'Divergent Future'--?" Peter asked, looking at me crosswise.

I took a step back, staring at the paintings again. "I don't know for sure," I said slowly. "But it looks like maybe my past is catching up to me." I looked up at him, and realized that he was looking at me incredulously. He was trying to rationalize this, make it into something mundane that he could understand. "No, Peter. I know what you're thinking. But I've seen things... _done_ things... that shouldn't be possible. There is no impossible; there is no coincidence. That's _me, _that's _my _outfit_._ It's unique; if somebody's painted it, that's _not normal_. Something's going on. When I left the Elseworlds, I swore that I would never take back the costume. It would take something huge to make me wear it... something bad, probably. We need to find out what."

My head was spinning. Nine years ago, I would have dismissed the paintings as a coincidence. I would have just figured that it was just some weird quirk that the woman in the painting looked just... like... me.... I would have convinced myself that it wasn't impossible for someone to have imagined a black-and-white outfit like mine. But I wasn't the same person I'd been nine years ago.

And I had to admit, I wasn't just reeling from the shock of it. I was excited... I was _happy_. As good and normal as life had been since I'd returned, it had been boring as well. This was the most interesting thing that had happened in almost a month now.

"Isaac Mendez, huh?" I said under my breath. "Alright. I'll have to pay our resident clairvoyant painter a visit."

Glancing around, I whipped out my phone and snapped pictures of each of the paintings. "C'mon Peter," I noticed that he wasn't really paying attention to me, but instead gazing across the room at Simone. "Unless you'd rather stay here and make cow eyes at your secret heartthrob."

"Um, I think I'll stay," Peter said. I rolled my eyes. _Men._ "Alright, your choice. Me, I've got things to do," I muttered.

--

Peter watched as Dianne walked out of the gallery. As the wind roaring down the street hit her, she clapped a hand to her head to keep her hat from flying away. He could see her mouth moving and guessed that she was swearing loudly at whoever controlled the weather. He smiled. That was so Dianne.

"Where'd your friend go?" came a voice from next to him.

"She had something to do," he said, turning to see Simone standing there with a smile on her face. "She wanted to talk to the guy who painted these." He gestured at the paintings behind him.

"Really? Isaac Mendez?" Simone said in surprise.

Peter smiled. "Yeah. These caught her eye. This woman looks a lot like her, doesn't she? And Dianne's not a big believer in coincidences, so..." He trailed away.

"Sounds kinda paranoid to me," she said, smiling to take the sting out of her comment. "But actually, I know the artist. He and I are... seeing each other."

Peter tried to keep the sinking feeling in his heart from showing on his face. It wasn't like he had any right to be disappointed. Any relationship with her would be totally inappropriate while he was still working for her father. It didn't matter that he'd been completely in love with her since practically the moment he'd met her, up on the roof of the building owned by Mr. Deveaux. She was someone else's girlfriend, and his feelings weren't part of the equation.

But he couldn't help what he was feeling. It was like someone had twisted his insides all around. "I see," he said. It was all he could manage at the moment.

"Yeah," she said. "For a couple of years now. He's a great guy, and a really talented artist, but--" She paused, suddenly awkward.

"What is it?" Peter asked, concerned.

Simone shook herself. "You know what, it's nothing. It's not your problem."

"Is everything... okay? I mean, has he hit you, or--?" Peter asked.

"What?! No, no that's not it at all. It's fine."

Simone smiled, putting up a very convincing front, but Peter was not fooled. He wasn't as naïve as his mother seemed to think. "Well if you ever need to talk, I'm always here."

"Thanks. You're a good friend, Peter." A good friend. Yeah, that was _exactly_ what he wanted to be. But it didn't matter. He'd walk through fire for Simone. The pain he'd suffer, knowing she was with someone else, was nothing. It was worth it.

She turned to the paintings and looked them over. "And you know, now that you mention it, this does look a lot like Dianne, doesn't it?"

"It's kind of scary, isn't it?" Peter commented. Simone nodded.

"Yeah. The costume here--" She gestured at the first painting. "--was probably something he couldn't work into his comic book."

"Comic book?" Peter said, confused.

Simone chuckled. "Oh, Isaac has his own comic book. Ninth Wonders. He took it over from his uncle when Andrew's arthritis got too bad for him to keep drawing it."

"Really? Ninth Wonders? I used to read that as a kid," Peter exclaimed. "Small world, huh?" Simone shrugged, grinning.

--

I stepped out into the street, and almost immediately my hat was lifted nearly off my head by the driving autumn wind off the river. Swearing loudly at the unruly breeze, I struggled up the street, directly into the wind. I pulled out my cell phone again, and dialed the operator.

"Hi, yeah, I need the address for Isaac Mendez, living in New York City," I said. The operator mumbled something through a heavy accent.

"There are _how_ many Isaac Mendez's in New York?" I exclaimed. "Are you _kidding_ me?"

The operator apologized and asked me if I could give him any additional information that would help him narrow it down. "Um... he's an artist... does that help at all?" The operator sighed and entered the information.

He read off a list of addresses, which I jotted down on the back of a grocery receipt I found in the bottom of my purse. "Thanks," I muttered. "Guess I'll just go to _all_ of these and try to track him down." This was just _great_. Just exactly what I needed- to go traipsing across one of the hugest cities in the world in search of an artist who had painted me before he ever met me.

And for what? What exactly did I hope to gain from this? Did I really Think that solving this one small blip of a mystery would make all the parts of my life come together? What possible motivation could I have for following through on this?

Ah, but that was the question that got me moving. Because that was just who I _was_. I didn't need a motive to search. Even if it made no sense and would probably come to nothing in the end, I couldn't let a mystery go unsolved. I was like Lois Lane that way.

_Yeah_, I laughed to myself as I trudged up the street on my way to find a subway terminal. _That's me. Just like Lois. Only with more issues. _And on that cheerful thought, I set out to locate a painter.

--

**Another Note From Lara: Okay, I know I've said this a whole bunch of times already, but we're closing in on the eclipse. Just three more days (hypothetically) before reality takes on yet _another_ definition for Dianne...! Let me know what you think!**


	9. I Met the Painter And He Was On Drugs

**A Note From Lara: WOW that was a fast update!**

**Well guys, even though it has little to do with this fic (yet), my brain has been working overtime, and I've had so many fabulous ideas I can barely keep them straight. Let's just say, I've planned out the entire Dianne saga, straight up until the day she dies (yes, I'm sorry, it does have to happen eventually. But it will be of old age, not getting shot or something lame like that). There'll be at least six fics in the series, possibly more, depending on how many seasons Heroes runs for. **

**Anyway, you probably don't really care, but I've been plotting it out for two days straight, and I'm just so excited I had to tell you all that I am PSYCHED about this! It's very hard not to spill out the entire plotline right here.**

**Okay. I've rambled enough about the crazed workings of my brain. Go read what you logged on to read.**

--

I groaned, leaning back against a lamppost. I had so far showed up on the doorsteps of no less than seven Isaac Mendez's, and I'd made a complete idiot out of myself to all of them. _Hi, my name is Dianne Morten. I'm looking for an artist named Isaac Mendez_._ Does he live here? No? Okay then, do you know--_ And then they'd slam the door in my face. It was frustrating. I'd tramped all over Manhattan, Brooklyn, _and_ Queens in my search. Piece of advice: if you ever decide to go on an illogical search for one person in one of the world's largest cities, don't do it in four-inch heels.

There were two names left on my list of addresses; I closed my eyes and stabbed at the slip of paper with my forefinger. Opening my eyes, I looked to see which one I'd selected. I breathed an unconscious sigh of relief. The address was the closer one, right here in Manhattan. I was in no mood to travel all the way to the other one, which was halfway across the city.

But even so, it was a ten-block walk, and there weren't any subway stops near enough to make the cost worth it. I looked down at my feet, still encased in the ridiculous pumps. God, was I _crazy_? I never wore heels. Never needed them, I was tall enough as it was. But I picked _today_ to wear the tallest pair of heels I owned. Carefully, I stepped out of the shoes slipped them into my purse. The cool cement pavement felt nice on my sore feet. The biting wind that blew across my bare feet? Not so much.

Whatever, the heels were killer. I wasn't going to walk ten blocks in them, no matter _what_ I might step in. I set off up the street.

--

Okay, okay, so maybe wearing the shoes would have been the bettter option. I couldn't feel my toes and the numbness was slowly creeping through the rest of my feet by the time I reached the metal stairs leading up to this Isaac's loft. I wedged my feet back into the pumps and made my way up my steps.

Hesitantly, I rapped on the door. After a moment, a long-haired man who looked to be in his late twenties opened it. His thick dark hair was constrained by a white headband that looked straight out of a Japanese anime, and his black eyes had a slightly haunted look about them.

"Isaac Mendez?" I asked. I glanced over his shoulder into the room behind him. It was full of artwork, and the style was reminiscent of the comic-book style of the strange paintings in Simone's gallery. Looked like I'd found the right place.

"Who wants to know?" he asked in a most frustrating tone. I was immediately ticked off by this air of... I don't even know. He gave off a confrontational vibe, I guess. Well, so do I, but just in those four short words, he'd managed to piss me off with that little sneer that accompanied them.

I gave him my most predatory smile. "The Vigilante," I said, challenging him with every syllable.

His heavy eyebrows narrowed, and those dark eyes seemed to search my soul. "What are you talking about?"

"If you're the Isaac Mendez I'm looking for, you painted a three-part series called _Divergent Futures_." I whipped out my cell phone and found the snapshots I'd taken of the paintings. I showed them to him, and he nodded slowly. "It can't be a coincidence that this woman looks just like me."

"Plenty of women have dark hair and blue eyes," Isaac pointed out. Oh, so he wanted to play stupid, did he? Well, I had an ace in the hole. Kara and I had been fooling around on patrol one day before I returned to this world. She had taken my phone and snapped a picture of me in my costume. I held up the phone to show him the picture.

"And I happen to have that exact outfit hanging in my closet." That stopped him cold.

I raised my eyebrows, waiting for his rebuttal. "W-what?" he stuttered finally. "How is that possible?"

"I was kinda hoping you'd tell me," I pointed out. "Why else would I have gone looking for you when I saw the series hanging in Simone's gallery today?"

"You know Simone?" I nodded. Isaac smiled for the first time since I'd seen him. "She's my girlfriend. And my agent, but that's just how we met." Ah. Poor Peter, his quest for true love was over before it had even started.

"Small world. Well, are you going to tell me what's up with you painting me before I ever met you?" I hadn't come all this way just to get turned down for no apparent reason.

Isaac shrugged, looking uncomfortable. "Look, I don't know who you are, or what you want, but this is really... weird. And I don't think you'd get it."

He said it so condescendingly, I was tempted to smack him. Or kick him. In the face. Thank god I had learned some measure of self-control from Bruce, or I would have. "Try me. Weird is kind of my trademark."

"Okay but... don't ever tell Simone," he said, his awkward expression becoming more apparent. I agreed to keep silent, and he continued. "I... well, I was high when I painted that. Heroin. Simone's been trying to get me clean for almost two years now, and she'd be furious if she knew. Anyway, I don't even remember painting it. I just woke up and found the paintings stacked against the wall. Sometimes that happens. And Simone liked them so much she wanted them to sell in her gallery. That's all I really know about them."

Wow. So not what I was expecting. Actually, I had no idea _what_ I was expecting. Crazed stalker who'd spotted me on the subway one day, maybe. Psychic, maybe. But some random guy on drugs wasn't where I'd have put my money if someone had been taking bets.

"Um... okay," I said slowly. What would Bruce have done? Probably he'd have asked more questions, try to figure out some angle he hadn't already explored. Hell, probably Lois would have done the same thing. "Well then, can you tell me about the title of the paintings? It seems kind of random unless there's some kind of... hidden significance..." I trailed away, leaving my question hanging in the air, waiting for an answer.

Isaac leaned against the doorframe. "Look, I don't even know you. Why should I tell you anything?"

God, this guy was infuriating! I mulled over my possibilities. The first thing that popped to mind was to twist his arm behind his back in that really crazy hapkido move I'd learned last year and physically force him to tell me.

But instead, I simply took a deep breath and said, "Alright. My name is Dianne Morton. I'm a friend of Peter Petrelli, who is Simone's father's nurse. I'm a third-degree black belt in six different forms of martial arts. You painted me. There. Now you know me. Answer my question." Okay, maybe I was a little sharper than I originally intended to be. So sue me, the guy was _annoying_.

"Fine, I will," he shot back. Was it just me, or was I pissing him off as much as he pissed me off? "Come inside, I'm sick of standing here."

I stepped inside, on my guard. The last time somebody said "come inside" to me, I wound up bound and gagged, and ready to be used as part of Doctor Psycho's latest twisted experiment.

"When Simone told me she wanted to sell the series, she said they needed a title. So I was just sitting there, staring at them and trying to come up with one. And it just kind of... popped into my head that the ones on the ends- The Vigilante and Apocalypse, I mean- were two possible futures. And the other one, the one with the vigilante and the electric girl arguing, was kind of like a keystone. A turning point, and depending on what happened there, it could be either one future or the other. So that's really all I know about these stupid paintings, and will you please go away now?"

Alright. I was more than happy to get away from Isaac Mendez and his drug-trip paintings. "Fine," I said. "I'm going. And maybe I'm not the only true thing in those paintings. I'll let you know if I meet an 'electric girl'." And with that, I turned on my heel and marched out the still-open door.

--

Isaac Mendez stood stock still in the middle of his loft for several minutes after she left. Once he had come back to himself, he crossed the apartment to the little corner raised above the rest of the floor that he reserved for his living space. He dropped down onto his bed and stared at his hands. Vaguely, he wondered if Dianne's visit had just been another strange hallucination among many.

But no, that didn't seem right. His bad trips were always horrible, horrible experiences. None of them were just plain annoying.

It didn't help his sense of warped reality that his paintings of her had been in the back of his mind, creeping in strange visions into his dreams, ever since he painted her. Some of his art was like that- it stuck with him, invaded his soul and twisted at his mind until his only escape was the drugs. Ironically, it was always those pieces he painted while under the influence that had this effect on him.

But the visions of Dianne Morton were stronger than most. He had dreamed of her in the company of a tall, wiry, dark-haired man. He had seen her speaking to a blonde teenager. All of these dreams had, at one point or another, come out onto his canvases. _That_ was what he had neglected to tell her. _That_ was why he had been so determined to get rid of her. Not just that she ticked him off, but he was afraid she would see the other paintings. So many paintings, mostly of her and that dark-haired man. Maybe it was the Peter she had mentioned. Simone's father's nurse. Male nurse, ha!

He had painted the man alone, as well, many times. There was one in particular that stuck with him. The raven-haired man, leaping off a building. Falling or flying, Isaac couldn't tell, but the look of joy on his acrylic face suggested the latter.

Isaac shook his head, laughing softly to himself. This was insane. _He_ was insane. What Simone had been threatening for two years had finally happened: the drugs had driven him crazy. He was totally crazy, for even considering the insane thoughts that had come in the wake of Dianne's visit. True, he had drawn her, and in an outfit she apparently actually had. But so what? Freak coincidences like this happened all the time.

He continued to laugh at the insanity of it all, giggling hysterically until tears streamed down his paint-streaked face. It was official. Everything people had always assumed had finally come true- Isaac Mendez had gone crazy.

After some time, he stood up and crossed to the cabinet where he kept his "supplies." Reaching inside, he withdrew a vial and a needle...

--

"Anyway, the whole experience was entirely unproductive," I concluded. Tanya nodded sympathetically.

"Yeah," she said, "Druggies can be really difficult like that. My brother was always on something or other during high school so I know all about that."

I shook my head. "No, I don't think it was the drugs. I just think he was an asshole," I said, keeping my face carefully somber. After Tanya looked at me in surprise for a few moments, we both burst out laughing.

"Oh well, it's one mystery solved, I guess. Sort of. Partially. I guess I can go back to hacking through various police networks trying to find information about Samantha," I said resignedly. It wasn't like me to leave an investigation in the lurch like this, but frankly, I couldn't figure out where to go from here. What else was there to do, unless Isaac happened to remember something more about his trip-pictures?

Tanya looked pensieve for a minute before saying, "How was it that Sam was killed again?"

"Um, the top of her skull was ripped off," I said, surprised that Tanya didn't remember. "And her brain was missing."

She nodded. "Right. You know, I think I remember something in the newspaper about another murder like that. Somewhere south of here. Like, in North Carolina or something. If you want, I'll try to find the article for you. Since you've had such a hard time finding clues and that, it might help."

"Okay. Thanks." Tanya was very supportive of my investigation, but I don't think she actually got it. She enjoyed the Nancy Drew-ish intrigue of the idea, but I had a feeling she just thought it was some kind of an obsession that would fade and pass as something more interesting came up. But I didn't mind. She'd handled my life story so well that I didn't expect anything more of her.

Speaking of my life story... Tanya got that awkward look on her face that she always assumed right before she was about to ask something about the last nine years. "So... um, I've been meaning to ask. You mentioned that you had, like, superpowers for awhile, didn't you?" I nodded. "Well then, what--?"

"What power did I have?" I interrupted. "Super strength."

Tanya looked fascinated. "What was it like?"

Memories flooded my mind. "It was... amazing. I only had the strength for a little over a month, but it was still... one of the most amazing things that's ever happened to me. I could push off the ground so hard that I could jump halfway across Kansas. Like flying. I could pick up a car... or a bus."

She nodded, staring at me. "Do you miss it?"

I was silent for a moment, wondering how much to say. Finally I decided on the truth. The whole truth. I trusted Tanya, and she had been a good friend to me. "Yeah," I said quietly. "Yeah, I do. All my life, I just wanted to be... special. Since my parents died, nobody really treated me like I mattered, and I guess it was like I found exactly what I had always wanted. I had to completely redefine myself when I lost it."

Tanya cocked her head, watching me inquisitively. "If you don't mind me asking, how exactly did you lose the superpowers?"

I smiled regretfully. That was one question I wasn't really ready to answer. To anyone. But I couldn't _not_ give an answer. "I screwed up. I got too over-confident, and people got hurt because of it. So, stupid me, I rushed in and got in over my head again." For a moment, I could feel the Parasite's clammy purple hands closing over my windpipe again, draining my life and my strength away. Then the feeling passed and I was able to look her in the eyes without seeing the dark gray eyes of Raymond Jensen staring back at me.

I was thankful that Tanya didn't press for any more information. Maybe she sensed that my already volatile mood had taken a turn toward the depressed. Whatever the reason, the conversation moved away from my past and onto lighter subjects. Specifically, whether or not Isaac was as sexy as Tanya pictured him. I chose not to answer that.

**Another Note From Lara: I think I wrote Isaac as a bit too much of a jerk, which is a shame because he's one of my favorite characters. But I thought that at this point, he's just beginning to discover that there's something more to his paintings than just an ordinary drug trip, and he's really freaked out. And most of the people I know are real jerkwads when they're under a lot of stress like that, so... flame if you want to. I probably deserve it.**


	10. The Missing Link

**A Note From Lara: So, for my utterly random ramblings in my author's note, I thought I'd tackle a subject that's been going around in my brain for about two weeks: Is Dianne a Mary Sue? **

**Honestly, I have to say that the answer is partly yes, mostly no. I actually went and looked up the exact definition of a Mary Sue, and Dianne doesn't fit the bill. Maybe you don't agree, perhaps I don't get it across in my writing, but the idea I have of her in my head is definitely not a Mary Sue. So I went and took a Mary Sue litmus test, and Dianne scored a 24 on a scale that goes up to 60(+). It's a pretty good score. Not the best score, but still a good score, and I am satisfied.**

**Okay, enough rambling. You can read the chapter now. Oh btw, I wasn't sure exactly how rich the Petrelli's actually are, so I just picked a number out of the air. If it's much lower (or higher) than what I said, let me know and I'll try and fix my error in later chapters.**

--

I sat up stock-straight in the darkness, clasping at my throat. Then I dropped my head into my hands, sighing. I'd had "the dream" again. I flopped back against my pillow, trying to put the nightmare out of my head. Maybe if I just closed my eyes and went to my happy place it would go away...

Twenty minutes later, I was still lying there, staring at the ceiling. _Fuck this shit_,_ I'm not going to get any sleep, I may as well do something useful_. Nothing I did was going to get me back to sleep tonight; I should have known that from the start.

Pulling on a sweatshirt over my pajamas, I walked out of the apartment and climbed the stairs up to the roof. It was becoming a favorite haunt of mine: I'd always kind of had a thing for rooftops. I sat down on the gravel, and leaned back against the low ledge running along the edge. The stars were veiled by the bright city lights, but I fancied that I could see Venus through the haze of smog.

I thought back over the events of the day before, wondering what Isaac's paintings could mean. How could anybody paint the "future"? If it had been some weirdo in the underbelly of Gotham, I wouldn't have been that surprised, but in real-world NYC I had to be a little more skeptical. God, I had to get over this stupid sense that things were going to go back to the way they'd been. I closed my eyes. Damn Barry Allen and his offhand comment about "things changing." If it weren't for that, I wouldn't be half so paranoid...

--

"Hey... uh, lady?" A hand shook my shoulder and I opened my eyes. Disoriented, I stared up at the man who had awakened me. Ratty red hair and dingy jeans... he stirred at my memory and I tried to place him. As my mind focused, I realized where I knew him from. Spens, the music-blasting, beer-swilling upstairs neighbor.

"Whaddaya want?" I groaned, slapping his hand away. My muscles, sore from sleeping on the hard ground in an awkward position, protested at my movement.

Spens shoved his hands in his pockets. "I was just makin' sure you hadn't OD-ed or something." I nodded vaguely, rubbing my temples. Official note to self: never sleep outside again unless it's absolutely necessary. "Yeah, yeah," I said to him. "I'm fine."

"Hey, don't I know you?" he suddenly asked.

Forcing a smile onto my face, I said. "Yeah. The day I moved into the building I beat the living crap out of you."

His eyes widened. "That was _you_?" he asked. "Man, that was _hot_." Inside, I groaned. _So_ not what I needed right now. "So..." he said, apparently not noticing my expression, "Do you always kick a guy's butt on the first date, or is that for an extra charge, Spitfire?"

The obvious implications shocked my mind out of it's sleepy haze, and I belted him. "No, that's free. But there is no 'date', asshole. Just tell me what time it is."

"Time enough for us to get it on," he said, leering at me. I rolled my eyes. What was it about guys that made them think a really bad pickup line would work on any random girl who'd just broken their nose? I grabbed his arm, twisted it behind him (again) and forced him to the edge of the roof. "I swear to god I will hurl you off this building if you don't just tell me what time it is," I said. Okay, I was exaggerating, not having the equipment to jump off myself and save his sorry butt from getting splattered, but he didn't know that. And my pounding head and sore muscles probably didn't help my mood.

"Fine, fine," he gasped. "No need to get all huffy. It's nine thirty, happy?" I released him, and he dropped with a heavy thump to the gravel rooftop.

"Nine thirty?" I said. "Oh _shit_." _Late for work, that's just great, Dianne. Just freaking great._ I dashed off the roof, leaving Spens sitting dazed on the ground.

I flew through the apartment, dressing in sixty seconds flat. "What's up?" Tanya yawned, stumbling out of the bathroom with a hung-over look to her.

Groaning in frustration over my inability to find my other shoe, I called an answer over my shoulder. "Had a... bad dream. Went up to the roof last night, fell asleep, and I didn't wake up until just now. And now I'm late for work, that is just _great_." I hissed in frustration and the building fury that I generally felt any time I was late for anything.

"Oh, so _that's_ why you didn't get your alarm clock this morning. I figured you just had a one-night stand or something. God, you could have at least had the decency to turn the damn thing off; I had to get up at seven to go hit the snooze button!" Tanya grumbled.

Wrong thing to say. "You know what Tanya, it's nine thirty in the morning. The only sleep I got last night was sitting up on the roof, my head hurts like a _mother_, and _why_ can't I find my goddamn shoes? But whatever, this is _not _the time to go pissing me off, okay?" I yelled.

I whirled around, finally deciding to wear an ugly old pair of Mary Janes I wasn't even sure were mine, rather than waste another minute on searching for a decent pair of shoes. Tanya's beautiful face was furious as I walked out of the apartment, but she didn't say anything.

As I hailed a cab, too incensed and in too much of a rush to walk, I remembered whose shoes they were: Lana's. Back when we'd hated each other's guts, she'd hurled them at me after I told her she had no fashion sense for even looking at them in the store. The thought made me smile briefly; Lana and I had laughed about that incident for years afterward. But it didn't seem quite as funny as it usually did this morning.

I pulled out the collapsible hairbrush that had been sitting in the bottom of my purse for ten years and ran it through my dark hair. Then I glanced at my reflection in the mirror on the back side of the brush, and noticed that the skin around my eyes was puffy, as if I hadn't slept at all. Great, just great. I swabbed some blue eyeshadow on my top lids in an attempt to disguise it. My pathetic attempt failed miserably, so I gave my face up for a lost cause and settled back in the seat.

--

Angela Petrelli was a very wealthy woman, that was to be sure. With the death of her husband, Arthur, she had inherited almost four billion dollars and a huge mansion in the Upper East Side. Her short black hair was coiffed at the most overpriced salon in the city, and her perfectly manicured nails had cost her several hundred dollars. But money and houses do not buy peace of mind. The only way to settle your conscience is by doing what you think is right.

And Angela was doing just exactly that when she entered her late husband's office and locked the door behind her. She picked up the receiver of his telephone and dialed a secure number in L.A. After two rings, her call was answered.

"Daniel, it's Angela," she said in a soft voice. "I had another dream. And something's changed."

Three thousand miles away, Daniel Linderman sat back in his leather chair and smiled indolently. "I'm sure it's nothing, Angela," he said. "The future is in constant motion, but whatever minute change has occurred to set things off will not affect the plan."

"No, you don't understand, Daniel. This is more than some little variation of time and place, or one more person to add to the body count. The... the catalyst event may not happen at all," Angela said, the tension already so visible in her eyes coloring her voice.

Linderman sat up straight. He was suddenly very intent on the conversation. Usually when Angela called him like this, he paid little attention. She had never been entirely satisfied with this venture of theirs, and she had good reason, but he was sure she was overreacting. God knew, if it was his own son, he wouldn't be half so concerned. But the fact that their entire plan might be thrown off... that _was_ reason for concern.

"What do you mean?" he said.

Angela sighed. "It was very... confused... and I can't really be sure what will happen. It's as though there's a divided future, two possible outcomes." "Tell me all about it, Angela dear," Linderman said in a comforting tone.

"There is a young woman," Angela said, "About Peter's age and tall, with dark hair. Blue eyes. I saw her fighting with Bishop's daughter, and she was killed. After that, New York was devastated as per your _plan_. But then the vision returned to that... tussle... with the Bishop girl. And this time, the other girl was saved, by that... that blonde you've been watching so closely all these years now. And if she survives, New York stays right where it is."

Linderman pondered this, thinking carefully. "Where does this confrontation take place?" he asked slowly. Angela sighed. "Somewhere out west," she said. "I saw palm trees. It was sunny, the middle of the day. Maybe somewhere in California?"

How could one young woman he had never heard of before wreak so much havoc on their carefully mapped-out plan? Linderman tried to picture the scene Angela described; it was a technique that sometimes helped his thought process. Suddenly, an errant thought crossed his mind, inspiring him. It was a wild, completely illogical thought, but it had been on his mind lately. "Brunette. Blue eyes, you said. Did you happen to get a name?"

"Maybe," Angela said. "I could hear some of the voices, but I'm not sure. Diana maybe?"

Linderman smiled slowly, his icy blue eyes crinkling up at the corners. He just loved irony. The fact that this girl should come back into the equation when he had been counting her out of every venture he entered into for nine years was absolutely delicious. "Mm, yes," he said slowly. "Dianne."

"Do you know who it could be?" Angela asked.

"Oh, I couldn't possibly know for sure," he said. "After all, there are probably plenty of blue-eyed brunettes named Dianne or Diana or Dinah or such, my dear. But it seems too much of a coincidence that one should turn up just at this stage of planning, doesn't it, for it not to be the one I'm thinking of?"

Angela stared blankly at the wood-paneled wall of the office. "And just who do you think it is Daniel?" There was a short pause before Linderman answered, but when he did, Angela's mouth hung open in surprise. "You mean she's not--?"

"Yes my dear, that's precisely what I mean."

--

I slid into my desk chair, hoping no one would notice that I hadn't been there half an hour ago. No such luck. Mr. Sully paraded his oversized butt over to my little corner by the door and huffed and puffed in my face. "Ms. Morton, you were supposed to be here _forty-five minutes ago_! What do you have to say about this?"

Obeisance had never been my strong point, but I figured that if I wanted to keep my current employment until it's termination, I'd better make some right now. "There was a, um, traffic jam. I had to get out of the cab and walk. I'm so sorry, it'll never happen again." I crossed my toes under the desk.

Sully's piggy eyes narrowed. "Well, you'll take it up with Mr. Petrelli," he said. "This is the second time you've been late, Ms. Morton. It's up to him whether we keep you on for the rest of your tenure here. When he gets a free minute, he'll speak to you." I nodded blandly until he'd turned away, then made a face at his back.

For the next few minutes, I busied myself with filling out what was meant to look like a spreadsheet if Sully happened to come wandering back my way. Then I minimized the screen, ready to bring it up at a moment's notice, and started playing Tetris. Yeah, I know, definitely the wrong thing to do, but I was sleep deprived and the only work going on anyway was over in the graphic design divison, where they were trying to come up with designs for new mailout cards.

And thus I spent an entire workday on utterly useless crap. Nathan never did get around to chastising me or deciding my fate or whatever it was he intended to do. He was too busy arguing with the artistic people about different shades of blue and red. I can't imagine that one shade of navy will influence someone's vote one way or another, but apparently these people know what they're doing, so who am I to argue?

--

Mohinder Suresh was a handsome man in his early thirties, and a respected professor of genetics at the University of Madras. He enjoyed his work, and took great pleasure from lecturing the best and brightest young minds in India. Today he was rambling in his usual tangent-riddled style on evolution.

"Man is a narcissistic species by nature. We have colonized the four corners of our tiny planet. But we are not the pinnacle of so-called evolution. That honor belongs to the lowly cockroach. Capable of living for months without food. Remaining alive headless for weeks at a time. Resistant to radiation. If God has indeed created himself in his own image, then I submit to you that God is a cockroach."

He had intended it to be funny, to be something that would pique his students interest, but only one or two of the young men and women chuckled. Mohinder sighed inwardly. It was frustrating when his lectures were poorly received. He tried a different track, trying to capture their attention through the metaphysical flipside of these theories.

"They say that man uses only a tenth of his brain power. Another percent, and we might actually be worthy of God's image. Unless, of course, that day has already arrived. The Human Genome Project has discovered that tiny variations in man's genetic code are taking place at increasingly rapid rates. Teleportation, levitation, tissue regeneration. Is this outside the realm of possibility? Or is man entering a new gateway to evolution? Is he finally standing at the threshold to true human potential?"

Suddenly, Mohinder spotted his colleague and friend, Nirand, standing in the doorway, watching him with sad eyes. "I'm sorry, I'm out of time," he said. Quickly and quietly, his students dispersed.

When all of them had left the room, Nirand approached the front of the class where Mohinder stood. "You sound just like your father," he said.

Mohinder turned to him. "I know, I know. They can fire me too, if they like. But there's something to it, Nirand, as crazy as it sounds." Something in his friend's expression cued Mohinder to some solemnity in the atmosphere. "What is it?"

"Your father... he's dead." Nirand bowed his head.

It couldn't be possible, Mohinder thought. He hadn't seen his father in months, but surely this wasn't possible. But... "What? How?" he asked.

"He drove a taxicab, you know," Nirand said. "It's a very dangerous job. They found his head smashed in..." Nirand trailed away, unwilling to describe the full extent of the tragedy.

Mohinder narrowed his eyes, resolving in that instant to follow Chandra Suresh to New York City and finish the work his father had started.

--

**Another Note From Lara: Because you just know that the scenes with Mohinder, Nirand, and H.R.G _had_ to have taken place a few days before the eclipse in order for Mohinder to be in NYC to see it.**

**And yes, even though it's a definite Sue move, Dianne_ is _connected to the Linderman conspiracy in a way no one would expect. But before you freak out because I'm incorporating Elle in S1, just be glad we get to see lots and _lots_ of everybody's favorite bitch. ;)**


	11. Genesis

**A Note From Lara: Okay, this is it people! This is the eclipse chapter! Or at least, the first part of the pilot episode, anyway. Finally, after ten chapters of setup, we're here! (But remember, it is AU, although with all the universe-jumping in this series, I hesitate to call it that.)**

**And on that subject, I have one small note to make. I _will_ be covering the other heroes' storylines, even when they're not directly interacting with Dianne. I know that most of you don't need that to remind you what happened, but believe it or not, I have one or two amazingly devoted readers who have never even watched Heroes at all! They read Smallville According to Dianne and apparently loved it enough that they wanted to read the sequel even though it's in a fandom they know nothing about. I am completely amazed by their friendship and their commitment to this series, so I will be giving at _least_ little exerpts to explain what the hell's going on for their sake.**

**The first two sections of this chapter are set two days before the eclipse, the rest of them are on the day of it.**

--

"Look, driving a cab is a very dangerous business," Nirand insisted. "The wrong fare, the wrong time... we may never know _what_ happened."

"No!" Mohinder said stubbornly, sloshing through the rain-filled streets of Madras. "A few days ago, my father called me, insisting that someone was following him, trying to steal his research. I dismissed it as paranoia, but now that something really has happened..."

Mohinder ran up the steps to his father's abandoned apartment. "Nirand, I have to do this. I have to finish what he started. According to him, he was _this_ close to finding the first of them... his "Patient Zero". He tracked him as far as Queens, New York."

"Your father lost touch with reality, Mohinder. Let go of this... this fool's quest of his," Nirand said angrily.

Pausing on the stairs, Mohinder turned back to look down at his friend. "I can't do that. I have to know that he didn't die in vain." Leaving Nirand standing on the steps, Mohinder continued up the flight and entered his father's long-abandoned apartment.

Almost everything was exactly as Chandra Suresh had left it. The scattering of books and papers all across the room, the huge map on the wall. The map was covered with interconnected lines of string, linking cities and countries, spanning the whole globe. Newspaper articles and photographs were tacked alongside some of the pushpins that had been inserted with great precision into the board.

Mohinder glanced around the room, looking for anything out of place. One thing immediately caught his attention. A pair of horn-rimmed glasses lay on top of a stack of books. His father had not worn glasses, and none of their relatives did either. These had not been here the day after Chandra left.

Suddenly, a voice echoed from the other side of the wall covered by the map. "Yeah, I'm at his apartment right now. No, he left everything here but his computer." Mohinder froze in his tracks. Someone was in the apartment with him. Hurriedly, and as silently as he could, he gathered together as many of his father's things as he could. "Yeah, get a team down here to bag and tag everything," the man across the wall said. Mohinder pulled out his digital camera and took a quick snapshot of the map, then pulled a pin out of the dot marking New York.

"I've got to call you back," said the voice. Mohinder swore under his breath. The man must have caught sight of the camera flash. He rushed out of the apartment, carrying an armload of files.

By the time the other man emerged from behind the wall, Mohinder was long gone. The man glanced around, observing calmly that some of the files that had previously been there were gone. Perhaps some burglar... Ah well, this was one the Company he worked for didn't need to know about. He picked up the horn-rimmed glasses and placed them over his eyes.

Horn-Rimmed Glasses surveyed the room with satisfaction. Another job well-done, he could go home to his family now.

--

Claire Bennet was supposed to have been home an hour ago. She ran through the dark streets of Odessa, Texas, breathing hard as her legs pumped beneath her. She just _knew_ that her mom would give her hell if she didn't get home soon. The skirt of her red and gold cheerleading uniform danced around her thighs, and she tried to come up with a decent alibi to explain her lateness.

The truth was that cheerleading practice had been canceled and she had gone to a party at the house of the head cheerleader, Jacky, who also happened to be her best friend. She had had just a bit too much to drink, and lost track of time. But she needed a better explanation than that. Her long blonde hair streamed out behind her as she streaked through the streets.

Perhaps she could just say that cheerleading practice ran late. That was plausible, and the other girls would back her up. The sixteen-year-old smiled briefly to herself. The lie made sense, and it was one she could tell with a straight face.

Suddenly, her foot was snared by a deep crack in the pavement, and she fell hard. "Ow!" she hissed through gritted teeth. Her beautiful green eyes welled up with unexpected tears at the pain in her knee. She rolled over onto her back and sat up, surveying the damage. As she saw the bloody cuts that covered her skin, she swore under her breath. Her entire knee had been completely ripped apart by the rought cement.

All at once, the pain vanished, and before her disbelieving eyes, the blood disappeared back into the wound and the skin knitted itself back together. "Oh my _god_," she whispered, staring at the smooth, perfect skin. "What the...?" What had just happened? How had the cuts just... healed themselves?

Numbly, Claire rummaged around in her purse, and found the small multi-tool she usually carried with her. She flipped out the knife, and placed it against the skin of her thigh.

She rammed the blade deep into her flesh. Blood spurted out, covering her hands and the skirt of her cheerleading uniform. She wrenched the knife free, and within seconds, the skin was pulling itself together once more. Claire sat there on the sidewalk, staring at her bloody hands. How was this even possible?

--

_Los Angeles_

A beautiful blonde woman posed in her underwear before a webcam. She turned her back to the camera and unfastened her bra, glancing over her shoulder at the lens. She smiled seductively, before an egg timer dinged and the camera stopped recording. Quickly throwing on a robe over her lingerie, the stripper hurried across the garage to her laptop.

She sent an instant message to her client:

XXXNiki4u: Time's up.

Huggerz69: Little more. Please.

XXXNiki4u: It'll cost you another 39 bucks.

Huggerz69: BITCH!

"Pervert," Nicole "Niki" Sanders said aloud. She closed the connection to her website and hurried past all her paraphernalia for her 'job' towards the door to the garage. As she passed a large mirror, she paused. For just a moment, there were _two_ Nikis in the mirror. She stared at her reflection, and the look in her blue-gray eyes was challenging. Exhaling sharply, she turned away from the mirror and entered the house.

"Micah?" she called to her son. "Time to get ready for school!" She stuck her head into his bedroom, only to discover that her eleven-year-old son was nowhere to be seen. "Micah?" she said, panic swelling in her chest. Oh god, she was late on her payments, what if Linderman had sent some thugs to kidnap her son...? Niki whirled out of the room, running down the hall.

She didn't see that her reflection in the mirror above his bureau turned out of the room _after_ she did.

"Micah?!" Entering the living room, Niki found the boy sitting on the sofa, fixing his computer. "Oh my god, baby you scared me!" she said breathlessly. She tousled the boy's dark curly hair. "What are you doing?"

The dark-skinned boy glanced up at her. "Just working on my computer. The logic board was bad, so I built a new one." Niki laughed softly. "A new one. Did anybody ever tell you you're the smartest little man on the planet?"

"Yeah, you do. All the time," Micah said. Niki picked up a shoebox that was sitting on the table and looked at him questioningly. "It's a pinhole camera," he clarified. "For the eclipse? The moon's gonna cover up the sun today. We're supposed to watch it in school."

Niki nodded, handing the box back to him. "Speaking of which, you need to go get ready. You can't be late, not today."

"I'm already dressed and I packed my lunch," Micah countered. "That's what I've been doing this morning. What about you?" Niki sighed inwardly. She sometimes wondered if Micah knew exactly how she made their money. The boy was so much more perceptive than she ever gave him credit for.

Suddenly, a sharp knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. "Micah, go get your stuff and wait by the back door, okay?" she said, tension showing clearly in her voice. The boy left the room quickly as she peered through the curtains. On the front step, she saw two men standing impatiently before the door. Oh god, Linderman had sent debt collectors after all!

She hurried Micah out the back door to the car and threw it into reverse, skidding out of the driveway as quickly as she could drive.

--

Claire Bennet stood on top of the old mining derrick, peering through the bright Texas sunlight to the ground below. They were pretty far away from the town, no one would see her. Across the flat ground stood Zach, a former friend she hadn't spoken to since... god, she didn't know how long it had been since she'd talked to Zach. But she felt that she could trust him, and he had a camera...

"Camera ready?" she called. He gave her the thumbs up, and she climbed over the rail between her and an eighty-foot fall. Her palms sweated, and she felt a familiar thrill of adrenaline, despite the fact that she knew she would be fine. She clenched the bar behind her, then with a shriek she let go.

The next thing she was aware of was her spine snapping itself back in place. She stood up as the pain wracking her body quickly faded, and saw that Zach had run across to where she was getting to her feet. She looked straight into the camera and said, "This is Claire Bennet, and that was attempt number six." She felt the lacerations on her face healing, blood vanishing back into the cuts.

Zach turned off the camera. "Aside from the fact that that was so gross I almost fudged myself, this is about the coolest thing since television!" he exclaimed.

"Not if nobody finds out about it," she said sulkily.

"What are you worried about? It's not like you won't still be popular," Zach pointed out. "Popular!?" Claire burst out. "Who said _anything_ about popular? Homecoming is a less than two weeks away and I'm a freak show! I've busted, like, every bone in my body, stabbed myself in the chest, shoved a two-foot steel rod through my neck, and I don't have a mark on me!"

Looking slightly disgusted, Zach pointed shakily at her abdomen. "What do you call that sticking out, then?" Claire glanced down at her side to see three of her cracked ribs poking through her skin. "Oh _great_," she sighed, shoving them back in as the skin healed.

As they walked back into Odessa, flames rising high into the October sky caught her attention. Claire motioned Zach to follow her, and they watched from behind the police barricade as most of the town's firemen battled a huge blaze from a horrible train wreck. It seemed that fire billowed from every car scattered across the dusty ground. "How hot do you think it is in there?" Claire asked quietly. Zach glanced at her and turned the camera on.

Claire darted under the barricade and dashed into the nearest car. As she stood in the flames, feeling her skin burn as quickly as it healed, she felt a surge of awful joy. She could stand here, where no one else would ever live to tell about it. Granted, she would always be a freak, but it was almost worth it to feel the fire lick across her skin almost like a lover's caress...

A sound from the back of the car caught her attention, and as she turned, she saw a man trapped behind the flames. Running forward, she grabbed him by the arm, hauling him out of the burning car. She half-carried him into the open, supporting him until two firemen had hurried over to wear they were stumbling along. Once she was sure the man was in good care, she ran away from the scene, back to where Zach held the video camera, still trained on her.

--

I was sitting at my desk, just like normal, when Nathan Petrelli came up to me. "Ms. Morton, right?" he asked. I nodded. "Call me Dianne," I said. I might not particularly like the guy, but that was no reason to be rude. Ha, yeah right.

"Dianne. Mr. Sully tells me you were late to work the other day. Is that so?" I nodded. "I overslept," I said tersely by way of explanation.

Nathan frowned. "I have to tell you, if the situation were any different, I'd have to let you go. At this stage of the campaign, I can't afford _any_ mistakes, even something little like my secretary being late to work. Absolutely nothing can go wrong. But since Mrs. Gordon is still on maternity leave, we'll keep you on, just until Prissy gets back. Do we understand each other?"

Hm. Nathan in person was... interesting. I mean, sure on TV he's all make-nice to everybody, a total kiss-up just to get votes, but face-to-face he seemed like kind of a straight talker. I could respect that. Even if it was two-faced. Hm, speaking of Two-Face, I wondered how Bruce was getting along... _Keep your mind focused, Dianne!_ That's what comes of living half your life in another reality; your mind never seems to stay on task when you _really_ need your wits about you.

"Yes, Mr. Petrelli. I understand perfectly," I replied.

"Call me Nathan," he said, smiling. I nodded, unsure what to say.

Then there was one of those awkward silence that makes you want to stand up and do something totally ridiculous just to break the tension. "Well then..." I said, completely unsure of what I was going to say. 'I have a lot of work to do,' just seems kind of obvious, you know? And saying 'I want to go back to playing Tetris,' isn't exactly the kind of thing you want to say to your boss when you just got done having a discussion about why he wants to fire you but can't just now.

Thankfully, I was rescued by the phone ringing. I picked up the receiver and listened to the voice on the other end of the line for a moment. "Yes, as a matter of fact he's right here. It's Mr. Linderman," I said, handing the receiver to Nathan. "And I think it must be something important, because this time everybody's favorite mob boss is actually calling in-person." Oh my god, did I actually just say that?

Nathan gave me a very strange look, but took the phone. "Yes, hello Mr. Linderman," he said, and began "mm-hm"-ing and "yes"-ing like crazy. But the whole time, he was giving me this "we'll-talk-about-this-later" look I hadn't seen from anybody since my last foster parent.

Suddenly, Peter burst in through the door. "Nathan, I gotta talk to you!" he said loudly.

--

**Another Note From Lara: Here we go! Time for everybody's world to turn upside-down! Who here thinks that Dianne's going to be totally in her element?**

**On another note, I have a favor to ask of all of you. I'm having some difficulties deciding what pairings I'm going to start off in this fic, so give me some ideas. Bear in mind that although I have no objections to it, I don't write slash, and I'm already planning on setting Mohinder up with Tanya (although it may eventually end in disaster, who knows?) Anyway, please help me out, I'm struggling with this!**


	12. What Is It With Me And Flying People?

**A Note From Lara: I want to send a big shout-out thank-you to **cruailsama**, who was the first one to review last chapter. Actually, the only one who reviewed by the time I posted this chapter.**

**Okay, just a random question: who else here is really ambivalent towards Claire? Because see, I _really_ like her when she's not whining. But when she's being all, "oh I'm such a freak I want life to be normal I want my daddy to love me more I want I want I want," I just want to throttle her. And she has so much potential as a character that I hate how she's still stuck in that self-centered rut. Who else thinks so?**

**The song lyrics incorporated into this chapter are from 'Superman' by Five For Fighting. It's a beautiful song, if you haven't heard it, you should. It's on YouTube... And it's totally Peter's themesong. The words perfectly describe him, which makes sense, since it's supposed to be written from Superman's POV, and Peter could _BE_ Clark Kent if he felt like it.**

--

_Two hours earlier..._

_Peter was standing on a ledge overlooking an alley several stories below. He leaned forward, tipping slowly off the building, ready to fly. The pavement rose up to greet him as he fell slowly..._

_Suddenly, he was soaring above the city, swooping past the buildings and drifting through the air. It was an exhilarating feeling, and he could feel the wind rushing through his hair. The sun shone in his eyes, bright and warm..._

He jerked awake. Simone had just entered the room. "How's he doing?" she asked, gesturing to her father, who lay unconscious in the king-sized bed. Peter sat up straight in the chair where he sat beside the bed. "Oh, sorry, did I wake you?" Simone asked with that small smile that made him go just a little weak at the knees. He was glad it was Charles Deveaux, and not him, who was hooked up to the heart monitor. _That_ would be embarrassing...

"No, no," Peter said hurriedly. "I just keep having these amazing dreams every time I close my eyes... forget about it. It's nothing. He, uh... he likes me to read him the stock page." He gestured to the paper that lay folded on his lap.

"Is he even conscious at all?" Simone asked, looking sadly at her dying father. Peter shook his head. "No. It's been a week now. I think he's close. A couple more days, maybe."

"You know," Simone said after a moment, "I don't know what he'd do without you. You're like a son to him."

Peter chuckled. "That'd make us like brother and sister. Might make it kind of awkward if I ever wanted to ask you out." Immediately, he regretted his words as he saw the look on Simone's beautiful face. Damn Dianne and her stupid put-yourself-out-there advice! What was he thinking? "Sorry, that was inappropriate. I know you're seeing somebody." Simone chuckled awkwardly.

--

Peter leaned against the faux-leather seat of the taxicab, half-listening to his iPod. These dreams he'd been having lately had gotten so intense that he barely felt rested when he awoke. Always the same one. Falling from that same building... sometimes Nathan was there. And then flying above New York. They were really getting to him. The song changed.

_I can't stand to fly,_

_I'm not that naïve._

_I'm just out to find_

_the better part of me._

You got the right idea, buddy, he thought. He glanced up at the blue October sky through the window of the cab. He wondered vaguely if there were really anything to his dream. Most of his life he'd wanted nothing more than to fly. It was one of those impossible childhood dreams that he'd never really let go of.

_I may be disturbed,_

_but won't you concede?_

_Even heroes have_

_the right to dream._

The music drifted through his earbuds, striking a chord deep inside him. He had always loved this song, but somehow today it seemed so much more... significant. It was as if John Oneiden were speaking directly to him, telling him what to do.

_I'm only a man_

_In a funny red sheet_

_Lookin' for special things_

_Inside of me, inside of me..._

Suddenly, Peter became aware of Nathan's face staring down at him from a billboard, and realized that he'd arrived at his destination. He paid the cabbie and hopped out of the taxi, hurrying in to the campaign offices.

--

"Nathan, I need to talk to you!" Peter exclaimed, half-running to where Nathan stood in front of my desk. I raised my eyebrows at him, but he more or less ignored me. _Well _fine_ then_, I thought to myself.

"Mr. Linderman, I'm gonna have to call you back in a few minutes, okay?" Nathan said, handing me the receiver. I spoke to the white-collar criminal, took down the number at which I could reach him, and hung up the phone.

Meanwhile, Peter was speaking animatedly to his brother, gesturing wildly. He had a dazed, dreamy look in his eyes that I'd noticed several times over the last few days. Actually, I hadn't seen much of Peter over the last couple of days. He'd been secretive, and with the gradual deterioration of his patient's condition, he'd pretty much dropped off the radar. But when I had seen him, he'd been acting kind of weird, like maybe something had happened. I wondered if he'd actually made some headway with Simone, even with her druggie boyfriend hanging around.

"Pete, can it wait?" Nathan asked. "I'm late-- I've got a fundraiser and a drinks meeting."

Peter ran straight through his statement as if he hadn't heard it. "It happened two more times. Sometimes I'm falling, sometimes I'm flying. Sometimes you're in 'em!" he said.

Nathan sighed. "I don't have time for this, Pete."

"They're not just _dreams_, Nathan!" Peter said loudly. Um... what? I was confused, and getting more so by the second. "I thought they'd go away, but they aren't!"

"Um... guys?" I asked hesitantly.

Nathan sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Look, Peter, I'd love to chat, but I really do have to--"

"When I got out of bed this morning, my foot hovered- hovered!- before it hit the ground. I'm telling you, I think I can fly!" Peter said loudly. Several people turned around to stare at him. Nathan groaned softly. "Guys?" I said a little louder.

"Look, if you think you can fly, why don't you just go jump off the Brooklyn Bridge. See what happens," he said.

Peter shook his head. "No, you know, I think I should start with something a little... _lower_ first. Like learning to walk, y'know?"

"Guys."

"You're serious?" Nathan said incredulously.

"Dead serious."

"_Guys_!"

Both Peter and Nathan turned to me. "_What_?" they said simultaneously.

"What the hell is going on?" I asked.

Nathan sighed. "Look, Dianne, I'm late. Can you just take care of this for me?" I looked at him in confusion. "Take care of... what?" I asked.

"Deal with my crazy brother for me, please? Explain to him that he can_not_ fly?" Nathan picked up his briefcase and walked away. Peter tried to follow him, but I reached across the desk and grabbed his arm.

"Oh _no_ you don't!" I exclaimed. "You do _not_ get to have a conversation that interesting right in front of me and then just walk away without telling me what's going on. Come around to my side of the desk." I grabbed a chair from a nearby unoccupied cubicle and dragged it around, forcing Peter down into it. "Explain," I ordered.

Peter cocked his head, thinking. "A few days ago, I started having these really intense dreams of flying. And then, this morning--"

"Your foot hovered as you were getting out of bed, you said that. So you think you can fly?" I asked sarcastically, sounding quite like Nathan, I noted in disgust. Peter nodded solemnly, and I suddenly realized that he wasn't kidding. Yeah, I know, I guess I should have picked up on that sooner, but what can I say?

For a moment, I simply stared at him. After a moment, I said, "What is it with me and flying people?"

Peter gave me an odd look. "You mean you believe me?"

I grinned. "Of course I believe you. You trusted me when I had to tell you something completely unbelievable. How could I not return the favor? If you tell me you can fly, then you can fly." This was true; I'd seen and done so much that this wasn't really outside of the realm of possibility. A little out there, but Peter was one of the more sane, stable people I knew. "So, have you tried it yet?" I asked.

Peter shook his head. "Not yet. Guess I'm kind of nervous."

"Ha! You're not the only one," I said, laughing. "God knows, we had a hard enough time convincing Clark to take the plunge. Kara had take him up thirty thousand feet and drop him to finally get his ass moving..." I trailed away as I noticed Peter staring at me. "What?"

"That's _it_..." he said softly. "_You_ can teach me to fly." "Wait, back up. What?" I asked, completely nonplussed.

Peter was getting excited now. He leaned forward in his chair. "Don't you see? You've already taught someone how to fly. You kind of know the... the theory. You could teach me!" I bit my lip, wondering how to reply. I mean seriously, what do you _say_ to something like that. Especially when Peter's the one doing the saying. With those big brown eyes, it was very hard to refuse him anything; he's so earnest and heartfelt himself that you just can't turn him down.

"Alright, fine," I said. "I'll try. But last time I did this, I had Kara to help me. And she was the one that did most of the teaching. I was just kind of the cheerleader. But I remember some of the stuff she said about wind vectors and that kind of thing, so we ought to manage well enough. I get off work at six, so we can--"

I was abruptly cut off as Nathan rushed back into the building, looking harried. "Pete, come on. We've got to go get Mom."

Peter stood up, looking worried. "What happened?" he asked. "What did she do now?"

Nathan ran a hand through his hair as Peter hurried around the desk to his brother's side. "She got arrested."

"For _what_?" Peter asked, appalled.

"Shoplifting." They walked together towards the doors, but at the last minute, Nathan turned back. "Dianne, you won't tell anyone about this." It wasn't a question. "I'm down in the polls and..."

"No, I understand," I said, motioning for him to go on. He left quickly, following Peter out into the street.

After they had left, I leaned back in my chair. Seriously, what _was_ it with me and flying people? Did I have a sign taped to my back that said, "If you can fly, come talk to me?" After running along in that line of thought for awhile, my mind turned to Angela Petrelli's arrest. My assessment of the Petrelli family went from merely eccentric to completely dysfunctional. It's a pretty sad thing when the black sheep of the family is actually a really nice normal guy and it's the rest of the family that's gone screwy.

My thoughts returned, eventually, to Peter's request. I was supposed to teach my best friend to fly. How the hell was I supposed to do that? I mean, it's not like _I_ haven't flown before. Bruce taught me how to fly the Batplane, and there was that crystal array Kara set up for me that created an anti-grav field... But flying a plane and flying with the help of Kryptonian tech is a lot different than flying under your own power!

What had I gotten myself into?

--

Niki Sanders sat in the principal's office of Micah's prep school, listening to the bald superintendent drone on. "Your son is a highly intelligent boy. Gifted, actually. But that's not the issue. We just don't think this school is the right fit for him." Niki nearly cried. She had sacrificed her freedom, selling out to Linderman in order to get money for the tuition...

"But he's made friends! He's on the soccer team!" she protested.

"I'm sorry," the stuffy little man insisted. And at his superior tone, Niki snapped. "I wrote a check for $25,000 to get him into this snob-fest! I was told that's what it took, and that's _on top_ of the tuition! I want my money back!"

The man opened a file. "That was a donation, and very generous. And I'm afraid that money has already been spent. It went to the capital campaign for the new--" Niki seized the man by his ugly striped tie.

"I want my money back. Now," she said in a deadly soft voice. Her face was inches from his, and her gray eyes were dangerous. "That's not possible," the man stuttered. Niki released him in disgust and whirled away, exiting the office and heading for her son.

Micah folded up his copy of the comic book _Ninth Wonders_, and stood up. "Come on baby, let's get out of here," Niki said furiously. "You're too good for this lousy school." They passed a large fish tank, and her reflection caught her eye. She stared at it. The reflection stared back.

"Mom?" Micah asked.

"Leave me alone!" Niki hissed. She rushed her son out the door. The reflection lingered for a few moments more...

--

**Another Note From Lara: Would you believe that I finished this in less than an hour after posting Chapter 11? But I wanted to wait to post it until I'd gotten a bit of feedback from you all.**

**And since you're all very smart people, I'm sure you've already deduced that Niki is pretty much my favorite character (second only to Peter, of course!). I'll be spending plenty of time on her, even though not much has gone AU yet...**


	13. An Impossible Eclipse

**A Note From Lara: _DAMN_**** I'm updating fast! I am really in the zone today, that's like three chapters I've posted in the last 24 hours!**

**Okay, I'm working with the original Niki/Jessica concept here, the one we had before Bishop started talking about multiple personality disorder. In this fic, the Jessica alter-ego _is_ actually her sister, not just a split personality. So to put things clearly: Jessica's superpower was the ability to take over her sister's body. Niki's power is the super-strength. Got it? Okay.**

--

Peter and Nathan stepped into a cab, as Nathan preferred to take a fairly anonymous method of travel to the police station. Peter opened his mouth to speak, but Nathan pulled out his cell phone and dialed the men he'd been planning to meet for lunch, postponing the event.

When he'd ended his call, Peter tried again. "Look, talking to Dianne is all very well and good, but you're in these dreams, Nathan! There has to be a reason for that."

Nathan sighed, massaging his temples. "You need to snap out of it, Peter." he said tiredly. "See a doctor. Get some drugs. But do _not_ pull a Roger Clinton on me, man. I'm eight points down in the polls, and I do not need this right now."

Peter cocked his head, disappointed that his brother still didn't believe in him. "Look, this isn't about you, okay? Something is happening to me, and I just think that aside from Dianne, you're the only person who's gonna understand!"

"Why the hell would I understand that you think you can fly?" Nathan regretted his outburst when the cabbie shot him a glance in the rearview mirror, shaking his head disgustedly.

For a moment, Peter didn't look like he would answer, but finally he muttered, "Because you're my brother." He turned away from Nathan and looked out the window.

--

Nathan Petrelli was a sight to see, storming into the precinct as if he owned the place. He threw open the door of the interview room without waiting for the guard outside it to move. "For God's sake, Ma!" he burst out angrily.

Peter entered the room and knelt down in front of Angela, taking her hands. "Are you okay?" he asked.

The older woman smiled sardonically at her older son over Peter's head. "They dropped the charges. I have to fill out a form. No big deal."

"No big deal!?" Nathan nearly shouted. "I'm running for Congress! Do you have any idea what could happen if this gets out, especially with our family's past? What could you _possibly_ need so bad that you had to steal it?"

Angela gave Peter a knowing smile, then glanced up at Nathan, raising her eyebrows. "Socks."

"Socks. Dad left you a fortune! What are you... it's been one stupid stunt after another since Dad died! He's gone, okay? Just... get over it!"

Peter stood up, turning to face his brother. "You know what, leave her alone. She's fine. Go deal with your image, I'll handle this." Nathan nodded gratefully to his brother, and hurried out of the precinct. The younger Petrelli turned to face his mother. "What were you thinking?" he asked quietly.

Angela smiled sadly, hating herself as she lied with every gesture. She loved her sons, both of them, but Peter was special. He wasn't deluded like Arthur, and he wasn't cold and heartless as she had become; he was hardly a Petrelli at all, if she really looked at the family. Yes, Peter was special. More special than even he knew yet. Soon, so soon, his whole world was going to come crashing down. It would be her fault. But would telling him do any good? No. She had debated that, had been on the verge of telling him, but it hadn't changed the future at all. It would do no good, only increase the torment he would put himself through for what was going to come.

"I just wanted to feel alive again," she said. Peter smiled in understanding. Such a good boy.

--

Several minutes later, Peter held open the door of the interview room for his mother. "Don't worry about Nathan. He only thinks about himself right now. With the campaign..."

"And you? For all your selflessness, sitting with dying people... you gonna retire on what you make?" Angela said, masking her earlier regrets.

Peter smiled ironically at his mother. "Maybe I'll shoplift my socks." "Don't get smart! You put everyone else first, you end up last," Angela said sharply. "You always put Nathan first, and he took advantage."

"Wasn't it _you_ pushing him right out in front of me?" Peter said, his tone telling her that he wasn't really as bitter as he sounded.

Angela glanced at him. "It's not my fault. He took up more space than you. Demanded more attention." Peter shrugged. "He's my brother. I love him. And he loves me too, I know it. We've always been close."

Angela snorted. "Love is overrated." Peter gave her a sharp look, passing her on the stairs. "That's not fair, Mom. We're... connected. When Nathan had his car accident... I knew it. Before the call. It was like he was telling me, 300 miles away, that he'd been hurt."

For a moment, Angela was taken completely by surprise. Six months ago? Had it really started so soon? She hadn't known that, she had thought it would start today, after this eclipse. But sometimes it happened that way- mental abilities, empathy and the like, tended to manifest earlier than physical ones. Pushing away her initial reaction, Angela slapped Peter gently across the face, and walked right past him.

--

_It is not an ordinary eclipse. Contrary to every law of physics, the entire earth is cast in darkness._

_Across the globe, strangers look up at the sudden darkness, and some of them are... changed..._

--

_Manhattan..._

Isaac Mendez is destroying his paintings. They speak of the future to him, and it's frightening to him. Only the ones he's painted while he's high, but they're eerily accurate. His girlfriend, Simone Deveaux, enters. He finally confesses to the drugs, and she throws up her hands in frustration.

"Get out!" he says. "I'll drag you down with me, I swear I will." He loves Simone. He can't stand to see how he's hurting her any longer. It will be better for her if she never has any more to do with him.

As she storms out of the apartment, Isaac spies an unused needle lying across the apartment...

--

_Las Vegas, Nevada..._

Niki Sanders drops her son off with a friend and returns to her house to see if it's safe to bring Micah home. She finds the place in ruins. The only thing she can salvage from the wreck of the living room is Micah's pinhole camera. Peering through the opening, she watches the sunlight disappear.

Suddenly, one of Linderman's thugs seizes her. He leads her to the garage, where his partner is setting up her webcam. He demands that she strip for him, in exchange for lowering her debt. She begins to remove her shirt, when she spies her reflection over the man's shoulder. The blonde in the mirror raises her eyebrows, challenging Niki to do something. Impatient, the thug strikes Niki across the face.

_Several hours later..._

Niki wakes up, still in the garage, to the sound of her son's plaintive voice on the answering machine. The whole room is covered in blood, and as she sits up, she sees the bodies of Linderman's henchmen lying torn to bits around the garage. Niki stands up, panicking. She spies her reflection in the blood-spattered mirror; the woman in the mirror moves _without her_, making a shushing motion...

--

_Brooklyn, New York..._

Mohinder Suresh moves into his father's old apartment, updating the second copy of the large map on the wall. He sighs, wondering what he's doing here. He left a good job at the University of Madras, and for what? Doing real work at night, and driving a cab for money.

_Later..._

He is driving his taxi, and a young, good-looking man gets in. "Where too?" he asks. The man states his destination, then extends his hand into the front of the cab. "I'm Peter," the young man says. "Mohinder."

The man seems to be in a very talkative mood. They discuss evolution, which is something Mohinder would never have expected. Then the sky goes dark, an eclipse hiding the sun. Peter puts on sunglasses, peering out the back window of the cab to watch the sky. Suddenly, as the sun is beginning to be revealed, Peter's phone rings. He answers, and a frantic woman's voice calls out, "Peter, you have to help me! Meet me at my apartment!" Peter gets out of the cab, paying his fare, just another face in the crowd once again.

Another passenger steps in in his place, and asks to be taken to the airport. Mohinder glances in the rearview mirror, and is shocked to spy the man with horn-rimmed glasses he spotted in his father's apartment in Madras. The man makes probing statements, bringing up his father in the process. Panicking, Mohinder steers the taxi into an alley, and hurls himself out of the driver's seat...

--

_Tokyo, Japan..._

Hiro Nakamura, an office worker at Yamagato Industries, stops the second hand on his desk clock. Excitedly, he tells his friend Ando about his discovery. Ando is skeptical, frustrating Hiro. As Hiro returns to his desk, Ando turns back to his computer, smiling excitedly as he pulls up a web page- _lasvegasniki . com_.

The workers of Yamagato Industries are taking an exercise break on the rooftop. All dressed the same. All with the same dark hair and eyes. All moving at the same time. All at once, darkness sweeps over the city. No one seems to notice... no one, that is, but Hiro. He stops stock still in the middle of all the motion around him, staring up at the sudden change in the sky.

Later, Hiro insists that he can bend time and space, and teleports himself into the women's bathroom at a club. Ando still disbelieves him, telling him that they are not special, they are Japanese.

Finally, in a listless daze on the subway, Hiro makes one last attempt to prove himself. All around him, the train disappears, and time clicks back. Hiro stares around, finding himself in New York City, in Times Square. "Yataa!" he exclaims, throwing up his arms in ecstasy...

--

_Odessa, Texas..._

Claire and Zach walk through the dry Texas countryside. Suddenly, the world begins to go dark. She glances up at the sky and realizes that the eclipse her teacher mentioned last Friday is happening now. For a moment, she stares up at it.

_Later..._

Claire is at home, talking to her mother, Sandra Bennet, as she runs some vegetable peelings down the garbage grinder. She drops her class ring down the drain, swearing under her breath. Quickly, she thrusts her hand into the grinder to retrieve her ring, pulling it out bloody and mutilated.

"So, what did you do today, Claire?" Sandra asks. The cheerleader hides her bloody hand behind her back. "I walked through fire and I didn't get burned," she replies enigmatically.

"That is very deep," Sandra said in admiration of her daughter. Behind her, Mr. Muggles, the family's prize-winning Pomeranian, licks at a few drops of blood on the floor.

Suddenly, the front door opens. "Oh, your father's home!" Sandra exclaims. Claire runs to the front of the house, throwing herself into the arms of a middle-aged man. Wearing horn-rimmed glasses.

--

**Another Note From Lara: Sorry to spend so much time dithering on stuff most of us already know happened, but I already explained my reasons. We'll be getting back to the NYC plot in the next chapter.**


	14. Leap of Faith

**A Note From Lara: This chapter is comprised of three main sections, and the timeline is kind of weird, so I figure I'd better explain it. The scene between Simone, Peter, and Isaac in the Deveaux penthouse and Isaac's loft takes place shortly after Peter got out of Mohinder's cab. When Peter jumps off the building, it takes place at sundown the day of the eclipse. The scene between Tanya and Spens takes place at the same time Peter's taking his little death leap.**

--

Peter let himself into the Deveaux penthouse with his spare key. He wondered what had happened to make Simone sound so terrified on the phone earlier. As he entered Charles Deveaux's bedchamber, he found the woman in question, digging through her father's things, half-emptying drawers in her frantic search.

"Simone?" he asked. "What's wrong?"

Not looking at him, Simone replied in a tear-filled voice. "You're a nurse, you can give out a shot. You can help him!" Seizing Peter's arm, she located what she was looking for- a hypodermic and a bottle of morphine. Quickly, she lead him out of the apartment and into the express elevator. As the doors closed, she explained hurriedly. "It's my boyfriend, Isaac. You remember, the one who painted your friend? He's a heroin addict; I've been trying to get him clean for over a year. A month ago, he started shooting up again and I just now found out about it. I'm so worried about him, he was in a bad way when I left him."

Peter nodded vaguely, the obvious terror in her voice for the other man causing him to seethe with unwarranted jealousy. To distract himself from the selfish emotion, he sent himself back in his mind to those... dreams. The ones that were more than just dreams.

Nathan didn't believe him, and it stung. He loved his brother, and it hurt that the man he had looked up to for his whole life wouldn't even listen to him when he was going through something genuinely profound. But he'd come around eventually. He knew it; Nathan wouldn't let him down.

But... Dianne _did_ believe him. That was good. She had wormed her way into his life surprisingly quickly, even by his standards, and he considered her to be one of his closest friends. And of anyone he knew, she stood the best chance of being able to make sense of... whatever this was.

Gradually, he became aware that Simone was talking again. "--think you'll be able to help him?" Isaac. Yeah, her boyfriend.

"Um... probably," Peter said. He was a good nurse, he knew what he was doing. "I'll have to see what stage he's in, but I'll do everything I can."

As they exited the elevator and hailed a cab, Simone continued in a hushed voice. "I'm really worried about him. Whenever he falls off the wagon it gets a little harder to get him back on, but this time he's really lost it. He kept going on about how he could paint the future when he was high. It's starting to really scare me."

At this, Peter turned to look at her sharply. "Well, who's to say he can't? He painted Dianne before he'd ever met her."

Simone chuckled sadly. "Peter, people can't paint the future! That kind of stuff is for fairy tales and... and comic books." _Right along with people who can fly_. His heart sank as the thought crossed his mind. He knew that Simone wouldn't believe him either, not until he could prove it, anyway.

--

They arrived at Isaac's loft within ten minutes, and at first it appeared that the painter had gone out. But when Simone descended the stairs into the main space of the apartment, she screamed. Isaac's body lay sprawled on the floor, barely conscious. The main of the floor space, once graywashed concrete, was now coated in a thick layer of paint- a huge mural spanning the entire area.

Peter stared in shock at the painting. It depicted a huge nuclear explosion devastating the city... just like in those paintings of Dianne...

"Peter, help him!" Simone called to him. Wrenching his gaze away from the mural, Peter dropped to his knees next to Isaac and set to work.

"His pulse is steady," he said after a moment. "He'll be fine if we get him to a hospital. Call 911." Simone nodded, tears running down her face and her breath coming in gasps, and pulled out her cell phone. Peter rose and walked around the apartment; there was nothing to be done for Isaac until the ambulance arrived.

He studied the paintings that seemed to be stacked across every flat surface in the room. Isaac's style was simple and elegant, reminiscent of a comic book. But as he passed a small niche in the wall, a painting shoved in the back caught his attention. It showed a man with long dark hair flying from a building. The man was wearing a red sweatshirt and a long brown trenchcoat. It was himself.

Dumbstruck, Peter stared into his own joyous face on the canvas. Here it was- confirmation that he wasn't completely nuts. This man, who had painted Dianne, who could paint the future, had depicted him flying.

Turning back to Simone, he intended to show her the painting. However, Isaac chose that exact moment to open his eyes. Throwing his arm out at the giant painting on the floor, he whispered, "We have to stop it." His eyes landed on Peter, widening as he spotted him through the haze of the drugs. "You have to... have to help me stop it... Peter." His head lolled back into Simone's lap, and fresh tears poured down her dark cheeks.

"How could he kn-know your name?" she whispered. Peter reached back into the niche, and held up the portrait of himself. Simone's eyes widened.

"Something's happening," he said. "I don't know quite what, yet. But something's happening. To me, to Isaac..." At that exact moment, the ambulence arrived outside and paramedics poured into the apartment. Peter was momentarily distracted, answering questions and explaining what had happened.

--

Tanya struggled to balance four overloaded baskets of clothes as she staggered into the laundry room in the basement of her apartment building. "This would probably be a lot easier if I weren't such a midget," she muttered, attempting to peer around the teetering pile to see where she was going.

"I don't think you're a midget," a deep male voice said from somewhere ahead of her. Tanya dropped the baskets in surprise.

With a sigh, she muttered, "Good evening, Spens." The red-haired man grinned cheekily at her.

"Well, you aren't! I mean, you're clearly over five feet tall."

Tanya picked up her laundry again. "Don't you have somewhere to be, Metal Boy?" she said caustically. "Besides bugging me, I mean. Because frankly, I'm caffeine-deprived, I've got a shitload of laundry to do, and I'm in a crappy mood. Not exactly the perfect recipe for idle banter with you." She piled her load onto the nearest washing machine, opened the one next to it, and emptied one of the baskets into it.

"Not really," Spens said. "I'm waiting for my laundry to be done." Tanya rolled her eyes, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder in as dismissive a gesture as she could manage. "Hey now," he said. "Don't be like that. Sure I've got my vices, but I don't mean any harm."

Tanya slammed the lid down on the washing machine and whirled to face him. "Hey, we went to high school, remember? I know _all_ about your vices. Maybe you don't mean any harm now, but you sure did then. Remember how you strung Lacey Meecham along for three months, only to--"

Spens's gray eyes became suddenly furious. "Maybe Lacey played the victim really well, but you better believe that she was far from innocent in that whole mess. Bet she didn't tell you the real reason we split up!"

With a grunt, Tanya turned away from him again. "Bet she just got so tired of looking at your ugly face she just couldn't take it any--"

Spens's hand slammed down on the top of the machine before her. She turned to face him, about to speak her mind, when she realized that the reverberations from the impact of his fist hadn't faded. If anything, they were... increasing...

Within seconds, the room was shaking, a deep rumbling coming from somewhere beneath them. "What's happening?" she yelled over the groans of weakened floor joists.. Spens shook his head, clearly as terrified as she was. Plaster fell from the ceiling, and the rocking motion of the floor threw Tanya directly into Spens. He clutched her, keeping them both from falling to the floor. The fluorescent lights on the ceiling popped and exploded in showers of sparks. Tanya screamed as she saw that the row of dryers that covered the near wall was collapsing toward them. "We're gonna die!" she screamed, closing her eyes. She raised her arms in a pointless gesture. A faint tingle ran through her hands...

Nothing. The earthquake had stopped. Tanya slowly opened her eyes, wondering why the hell they weren't dead. And suddenly, she had her answer. A stream of translucent purple energy streamed from the palms of her hands, suspending the dryers in midair. Her eyes widened as she straightened from her terrified crouch. The field moved with her, pushing the machines back. She pushed, and the field extended to lever them back into position.

The streams of energy vanished as Tanya's arms dropped to her side in exhaustion. "What _was_ that?" she asked shakily. After a moment, she realized she'd got no answer, and turned around.

Spens was sitting on the floor in a fetal position. "Are you okay?" she asked. He nodded shakily, unbending himself.

"I-- I think that the earthquake... I think it might've been... me. I think I did it," he said in a desperate whisper. His gray eyes held her brown ones, begging her without words to tell him it would be alright.

She sat down on the cracked and shattered floor next to him, in the middle of a scene of complete destruction, and leaned back on her palms. "Wow," she said softly. He nodded. "How... how did you do that?"

He shrugged. "I was mad at you. I wanted to... to hurt you. And when I hit the washer, I felt like--" He stopped, trying to make her understand, but not knowing how.

"Was it like... a kind of a tingle?" she asked quietly.

Spens nodded vaguely. "More like a shove, but my hands felt all tingly afterward."

Tanya nodded in kind. "Kind of how it felt when I... did whatever I did." Spens glanced at her.

"Yeah, I was gonna ask you what that was about." Tanya bit her lip, looking around at the destroyed laundromat. Carefully, she extended her hand, palm outward, focusing hard. A shimmering bubble of luminscent violet formed around her hand.

"Freaky," Spens whispered. Tanya smiled. "Yeah, freaky."

--

Peter stood on the roof of his apartment building, staring down into the alley below him. The glow of the setting sun played across his face. A faint shaking came from the building beneath him. He wondered if his next-door neighbor was playing his death metal music again.

As he spotted his brother's car pulling into the alley, he dropped his cell phone to the pavement below. Nathan glanced up sharply as it shattered. "What are you doin' up there Pete?" Nathan called, looking nervous.

"I've been up here all day, thinking about my destiny!" Peter called down. "I'm gonna prove it to you, Nate!" And with that, he stepped off the building, beginning a graceful fall...

--

I prowled around the apartment, impatient. Peter had been so eager for me to teach him how to fly, I'd figured he'd be tearing into the apartment the second I got home myself. But it was nearly seven-thirty, and there was no sign of him. I'd even gotten out some of my equipment and my utility belt was buckled firmly around my waist.

To pass the time, I decided to step out onto the fire escape to see if I could catch a glimpse of the setting sun. For some time I'd been fascinated with the sun (guess that's what comes of hanging out with Kryptonians), and today's eclipse had only reinforced my interest. I climbed out the window just in time to hear Peter's voice echo from above me. I glanced up and saw him step off the roof of the building.

"Oh my god," I whispered. I really hoped Peter was right about being able to fly, because he was in for some serious trouble if he couldn't. Maybe I could reach out and try to catch him as he went down...

A streak from below shot by me, and I glanced up again to see Nathan Petrelli- _Nathan_ of all people!- fly up to catch his brother mid-fall. I swallowed a yell of surprise, and watched as the pair careened around in the air. It appeared that Peter was too heavy for Nathan to support, and they were lurching wildly through the sky.

I rushed to the edge of the fire escape, peering up as they fell through the air in a gentle descent. Suddenly, Nathan's grip on his brother slipped, and Peter dropped sharply down... down... down... to the pavement. I reached out as he fell past my floor, trying to catch hold of his trenchcoat as he went by, but all I succeeded in doing was getting fabric-burn on my palm.

"Peter!" I screamed. Hooking a clip from my belt onto the metal of the fire escape, I launched myself off the platform, diving toward the pavement on a fine wire harness. Leveling out my body, I tried to accelerate my fall to catch him before he landed... but then he was hovering briefly, and I shot past him. Halting my descent with the touch of a button, I stopped just above the pavement.

Peter crashed past me, landing hard and cracking his head sharply on the blacktop of the alley. I released the wire that tethered me to the fire escape and rushed to where Peter lay. "Oh my god! Peter, are you okay?" I yelled. He groaned softly, but made no other answer.

A soft sound made me turn, and I saw Nathan touching down behind me. "Pete!" he yelled, kneeling next to me.

"His pulse is strong," I said. "I think he just got knocked out. Maybe a concussion?" Nathan glanced at me, pulling out his cell phone and dialing 911. Once he finished his call, he stood up, and I stood with him, refusing to give him even the slightest advantage over me.

Nathan didn't say anything for a few minutes. "How much?" he asked in a tired voice.

I narrowed my eyebrows, not understanding. "Um... what?" "How much will it take to shut you up?" Nathan explained.

He thought I would blackmail him? Because he could fly? "Politicians," I muttered caustically. "Always assuming everyone's got an agenda. I don't want money. I'm not gonna go blabbing to the press; I'm not a narc like _some_ people. Peter's my friend, and if he doesn't want the whole world to know that the two of you can fly, I won't tell."

Nathan looked at me like I'd just said clouds rained Jell-O. God, leave it to a would-be Senator not to understand that some people weren't manipulative assholes. After a moment, he asked, "How did you do that? Get down here, I mean?"

"I'm a third-degree black belt in six different forms of martial arts, and I happen to be a highly-skilled trapeze artist." Not technically true, but I bet I could be, with all the swinging on wires I do. "I had a wire hooked up to the fire escape to practice."

Nathan nodded slowly, as if trying to decide if he believed me. Apparently he did, because he said no more about it once the ambulance pulled up in the alley.

--

**Another Note From Lara: And things intensify! So, what do you think? See that little button down there, right below this note? It's your friend. The reviewing for the last two or three chapters was pathetic (except for a couple of really awesome people who _did_ review! Kudos to you!). I love feedback and it makes me want to write much much more, so... please? Pretty please? I hate asking for stuff, anything, but I'm asking you to review!**


	15. Hiro Has an Adventure

**A Note From Lara: Hooray for pathetic begging actually getting me what I want! Much better reviewing for last chapter! Thanks you guys!**

"We all imagine ourselves the agents of our destiny, capable of determining our own fate.

But have we truly any choice in when we rise or when we fall?

Or does a force larger than ourselves bid us our direction?"

-- Mohinder Suresh

--

It was very dark. He wondered why it was so dark. Then he realized it was because his eyes were closed, and after a moment of concentration, he opened them blearily. The world focused gradually, and the ache in his head began to fade.

Peter quickly became aware of his brother leaning protectively over him as he regained conscioiusness. "Nate? What happened?" he asked. He realized that he was in a hospital room.

"You don't remember?" the elder Petrelli asked. "You jumped, Pete. You tried to kill yourself. You were a little wound up yesterday, but I thought you were just being... well, _you_."

Peter shook his head, trying to remember. That didn't seem quite... quite right... "Tried to... no, no I wouldn't do that. I jumped... and you flew. You flew up and caught me."

Nathan shook his head, smiling sadly at his poor, crazy little brother. "What? No, you jumped... 25 feet to a fire escape. I climbed up and carried you down. That's what happened. The rest of this... it's just crazy talk, understand?" After a moment, Peter nodded slowly. He wasn't sure what was going on... surely his brother wouldn't lie to him, but he had thought...

As Nathan took his leave, Angela stepped from the corner of the room to sit by her son's bedside. Looking very grim, she said, "There's something you should know about your father's death. He didn't die of a heart attack, he committed suicide. When he was twenty-three years old, he was diagnosed with a major depressive disorder." Angela gave her son a half-hearted smile. _Liar_. "We didn't tell you before, because sometimes the disorder _can _have a genetic link, and you were always so sensitive..."

Peter cocked his head, wincing slightly as he stretched the sore area on the back of his skull. "But you're telling me now...?" he questioned slowly.

Angela nodded. "It can start with delusions of grandeur. Thinking you're invincible or indestructible. They are irrational thoughts that then turn suicidal. It's time you took a hard look at your life. And if there are changes to be made, I want to be here to help you. Because there's something else I never told you." She gestured to Peter to lean closer to her, and whispered, "You were always my favorite. I can_not_ lose you." Angela smiled sweetly at her son, pulling him into a gentle embrace. _Liar_.

--

Claire Bennet flashed her most flirtatious smile at Brody Mitchum, the star quarterback of the Union Wells High football team. He grinned back at her, meeting her coy banter with a comment of his own, completely ignoring Jackie, Claire's best friend, when she tried to interrupt the moment.

"Jackie Wilcox? Claire Bennet?" a loud voice called across the quad. The co-captains of the cheerleading team spun around, blonde hair whipping back together almost as if it had been coordinated. Principal Marks waved them over. "The chief of police and some firemen would like to have a word with you. You're not in any trouble, but they need to speak to you."

Ten minutes later, the entire cheerleading squad was lined up in the now-deserted amphitheater in front of the athletic center. The chief of police strutted down the line. "There's a very grateful man lying in a hospital bed, who'd like to thank one of you for saving his life," he said, grinning at the assembled girls. He glanced at the fireman standing next to him, who eyed the teenagers for a moment, then pointed directly at Claire. "Mighta been her."

"Claire Bennet?" Marks asked in surprise. "Claire, where'd you go after cheerleading practice yesterday?" Claire bit her lip, unsure how to reply. But before she could say a word, Jackie stepped out of the lineup.

"It wasn't her," the tall blonde said loudly. "It was me. I was on my way home from school, and I was the wreckage... I just had to help. I didn't come forward before because... I guess I just didn't want all the attention, y'know?" Claire rolled her eyes behind her frenemy's back.

As the squad gathered around Jackie, squealing in delight, Claire walked quietly over to the fireman who had first identified her. "How is he? The man Jackie pulled out of the car, I mean?"

The man smiled knowingly. "He's fine," he said. "Got some pretty nasty burns, but he's happy to be alive at all."

"Thanks to Jackie," Claire said, a small grin creeping across her beautiful face.

--

Niki stared around the blood-spattered garage, eyes wide with horror. Again, her reflection put her finger to her lips, insisting that she tell no one. Hurrying out of the room, Niki securely locked the garage and hopped in her car to go pick up her son.

As she pulled up to a stoplight, she glanced around the car, at the blood on her hands glimmering in the noonday sun. She started shaking with the shock of it...

She was in a parking lot, several miles from where she had been. It was now late afternoon. She was wearing different clothes. The blood was gone from her skin, and she was holding her cell phone. She leapt from the car, staring around at her unfamiliar surroundings. Quickly, she flipped open the cell phone and dialed her friend Tina, with whom she had left Micah. "Mom? Where are you? I called you, like, four hours ago!" the boy genius exclaimed when he answered the phone.

"Four... _hours_?" Niki whispered. "Oh my god, honey, I'll be right there, okay sweetie?" She snapped the phone shut and all but dove back in the car, careening out of the parking lot at top speed.

--

When she arrived at Tina's house, Micah and the tall redhead were waiting outside. "What is the _matter_ with you, making him wait like that?" Tina demanded.

"I'm so sorry," Niki said, hugging Micah. "Two seconds?" The eleven-year-old nodded, hoisting his backpack over his shoulder and running to the car.

"Tina, something terrible has happened," Niki whispered in a desperate voice. "Those thugs you said Linderman would send to collect his money? Well, they came. And now they're dead. On the floor of my garage. I don't know how it happened. I just woke up, and... Tina, they were _ripped apart._ And I think maybe _I_... Just, sometimes I look in the mirror, and I'm not sure it's me I'm seeing."

Tina never wanted to believe that her friend could be capable of something like that. "Well, maybe it was DL? Maybe he's still trying to protect you, because, you know, he still loves you and Micah and he--"

"No. DL wouldn't risk coming back here," Niki said, deflecting the thought of her husband. "The cops are after him. And besides, it doesn't matter who killed those men. Once Linderman finds out they're dead, he's gonna come after me. I've got to run." Niki stared around, panicked and completely unsure of how to continue.

She nodded. "Yeah, I've gotta cover my tracks, and I've gotta go." Tina opened her mouth to protest, but Niki was already gone, running down the walk to where her son sat on the roof of the station wagon.

--

Peter was sketching something when I came barreling into the hospital room. I glanced at the drawing briefly, and saw that it was two stick figures on a rooftop. One of them wore a tie, and the other was hovering several feet above the ground. In the top right-hand corner of the page was a strange curvy symbol, like a DNA helix with a bunch of missing parts.

"What the _hell_ were you thinking?" I demanded. He looked up, confused. "I did tell you I'd teach you, why didn't you wait for me? Jumping off the roof was just stupid."

"Wh-what?" he asked.

I sat down on the foot of his bed. "Sorry, guess I shouldn't be jumping down your throat after you had such a bad fall. You smacked your head pretty hard on the concrete."

Peter raised his eyebrows. "On the _concrete_? Nathan said I landed on the fire escape."

"And you're actually taking what Nathan says _without_ a grain of salt?" I said, giving him an ironic smile. "No offense to your brother, but he's way too wrapped up in himself and his stupid campaign right now to worry about little things like the truth. You definitely landed on the concrete."

After a moment, Peter asked, "You were there?"

"Well, unless I _hallucinated_ jumping off the balcony to try and catch you on the way down, I definitely was."

"You jumped off a balcony? Why aren't you in the hospital too?" Peter asked, looking deeply concerned.

I gave him a sarcastic glare. "You remember that bag of stolen Bat-gear you found?" Peter nodded. "Right."

"If you hadn't stopped falling six feet above the ground, I'd have caught you, too. But that really threw me off. Wasn't expecting _that_ at _all_."

Peter stared at the rough hospital sheets, shaking his head in obvious confusion. "But Nathan said--"

"Nathan says plenty," I said dismissively. "Including trying to bribe me to keep my mouth shut about the whole flying incident. I more or less told him to stuff his money you-know-where because I wasn't planning to go running my mouth off to some wet behind the ears reporter from the Times."

His brown eyes locked with my blue ones as I said that. "Nathan tried to bribe you?" he asked incredulously.

I smiled to take the sting out of the hard truth. "Your brother is many things, Peter, but he is not the kind of person to understand real loyalty."

"That's not fair!" Peter exclaimed. "Nathan's incredibly loyal!"

I sighed. "Right. The brotherly-love thing. How about this, then? He doesn't have your degree of human understanding and empathy. Better?"

A heavy silence fell over the room for a few minutes until Peter asked suddenly, "So Nathan really flew?"

"Not just Nathan. Of course, I was a little bit distracted by trying _not _to become a pavement pancake, but you hovered for a few seconds before you hit the ground. About six feet up; I think maybe you lost control of it. If you hadn't, it probably would have been a lot worse than a knock on the head. Nathan lost his grip on you about forty feet up, I'd guess. Could've been fatal if you hadn't... well..."

Peter nodded slowly, his trademark crooked smile spreading across his face. "So I was right," he said quietly.

I nodded. "Nobody ever said you weren't. Well, nobody but your family." I couldn't keep some of the skepticism I felt about the Petrelli's good intentions from leaking into my tone, which caused Peter to shoot me an unhappy look. But what can I say? From what the hospital staff had told me once I'd finally managed to convince them to let me through, Nathan had spun some pretty whopping lies to his little brother. And my personal policy is that lying is only acceptable if you're trying to protect someone close to you. And maybe it makes me sound cynical and jaded, but I just couldn't see Nathan doing that to keep _Peter_ safe...

"Anyway," I said, "Do you still want to commence with the flying lessons? Because you're going to have to understand that one of the basic rules of flight lessons is: Wait to jump off buildings until you can do ground takeoffs."

Peter glared at me, and I gave him a cheeky grin until he lost his dour expression and broke down laughing. "I've got to go," I said, standing up. "But I'm really glad you're okay. You were out for a pretty long while." I hugged him, and walked out of the room, wondering if I could get away with hiding some very unpleasant payback surprises in Nathan's desk.

--

Hiro Nakamura dashed through the streets of New York City, ecstatically greeting every person he possibly could. He had done it! He had teleported all the way around the world!

Suddenly, something on a newspaper stand caught his eye- the latest edition of _Ninth Wonders!_ comic. An Asian man who looked remarkably like Hiro, standing in Times Square with his arms upraised, was on the cover, with the caption "Hiro Arrives in New York." Although Hiro could speak and read only a little English, he knew enough to pick out the nouns and infer the meaning. Handing the man running the stand a few Yen, he fled down the street with the vendor calling angrily after him.

Ducking into the front of an empty movie theatre, Hiro opened the comic, eyes widening in wonder as he read an exact account of his past few days. Flipping back of the book, he found contact information for the artist, one Isaac Mendez. Hiro grinned when he realized the artist lived right here in New York, just a few blocks from where he was at that exact moment...

Several minutes later, Hiro knocked on the door of the painter's loft, but received no answer. Frustrated, he tried the handle, and to his delight, found the door unlocked. He looked excitedly around the loft, spying several paintings of a strange twisting helix symbol.

The excitement of his success faded, however, when he found a pool of blood on the floor. A streak of dark red wetness led around the corner. Hiro followed the trail, swallowing hard. "Mr. Isaac?" he murmured in his heavy accent. "Mr. Isaac?!"

As he rounded the corner, Hiro was shocked to find the artist depicted on the back of the comic lying dead in a pool of blood. The top of his head was sawed off, and the brain was missing. "Mr. Isaac!" Hiro cried.

"Freeze!" yelled a loud male voice. Hiro through up his hands, shocked to find himself surrounded by federal agents. Hiro looked at the guns trained on him, and again at Isaac Mendez's blood-stained body, and promptly fainted.

--

Agent Furakowa of the NYPD rubbed his temples as Hiro stared nervously at him. "Call my English-speaking friend Ando," Hiro told him in Japanese. "He will explain everything."

The agent dialed the number Hiro wrote down. When Ando answered the phone, Furakowa explained the situation in rapid english that Hiro was unable to follow. Hiro waited impatiently. He had already been here several hours while they attempted to question him in english. It was dark now, and he was scared. Adventures were not nearly as much fun as he had hoped. Furakowa hung up, and said gravely, "Your friend hasn't seen you in five weeks."

"Five weeks?!" Hiro exclaimed in stunted English. "October _two_--!" He pointed at his wristwatch which displayed the date in large LED lights.

Furakowa's partner shook his head. "No buddy. Today is November eighth." He slid a newspaper across the makeshift table that had been set up in the late Isaac Mendez's loft. "Oh no," Hiro whispered. "I traveled into the _future_!" He stared at the paper, whose headline read: _Nathan Petreli Wins Election By Landslide!_

A sudden loud rumbling from behind them made Hiro leap to his feet to stare out the sheet of glass that comprised the front wall of the loft. He was just in time to see a brilliant light, brighter than the sun erupt from downtown Manhattan. _Nuclear explosion_, Hiro guessed. He scrunched his eyes shut, fear coursing through him...

And then, just like that, he was back on the subway in Tokyo. Exactly where and when he had started from. But now, he bore the knowledge that five weeks from that day, a nuclear bomb would destroy New York City...

--

**Another Note From Lara: And that, of course, was the big reveal for us as we first watched Heroes. The moment we knew exactly when this bomb Isaac painted was going to go off... Now it's just a countdown to Homecoming! (More or less)**

**Press the button, please!**

**l**

**l**

**V**


	16. Focused Speculation

**A Note From Lara: Alright, so aside from **cruailsama**, I still haven't gotten much feedback on pairings you'd like to see. I'm open to most pairings, as long as they fit with the plot I've got planned out. Give a girl a hand?**

**BTW, all you fellow Paire fanatics, I found a great song for you to hear. It sounds like it was _written _for Paire; it talks about exploding to save her life, and the girl in the song has been broken and healed so many times... seriously. I kid you not. The song is "Light Up the Sky" by Yellowcard. Go listen to it. Right now. Before you read this. Because... It. Is. Amazing.**

**Oh, and yes, Audrey Hanson _was_ at Sam's murder scene. I haven't forgotten that whole incident just yet...**

--

Peter sat on the roof of the hospital, looking out at the austere office buildings that surrounded it. He propped his chin on his knee, feeling the wind rush past him, flipping his long bangs into his eyes.

"Peter? There you are. I've been looking all over for you," said Nathan from behind him.

He stood up, perched precariously on the ledge. "Tell me what really happened when I jumped, Nathan. Tell me you flew. Do it, or I'll jump again." Inside, he smiled at his game, allowing his heels to slip backwards just a tiny bit off the edge. Nathan raised a hand to stop him, lurching forward. Peter raised his eyebrows.

"Look, I've already told you what happened, Peter. You jumped and landed on the fire escape, I climbed up and got you down," Nathan insisted.

Peter raised his eyes to meet his brother's. "You're lying," he said softly. Nathan shook his head.

Unexpected anger rose in him. He couldn't believe it! Nathan was still clinging to this lie... and for what? "I talked to Dianne!" he yelled, taking a few steps toward his brother. "She told me what really happened. Why are you still lying to me, Nathan?"

Nathan pointed at Peter's feet. He glanced down to find himself standing on... nothing. A huge grin colored his face before he lost control and dropped down to the granite surface. "Did you see that?" he whispered in wonder. "I-- I flew!"

Nathan nodded, putting his arm around his baby brother's shoulder, guiding him off the hospital roof and onto the stairwell. "Look, Pete, we've got to keep this thing under wraps..."

The drone of his voice faded into background noise as Peter's mind drifted back to a sketch he'd made that afternoon, just before Dianne came to visit him. Two stick figures on a rooftop... one wearing a tie, the other hovering above the pavement...

--

_Los Angeles, California,_

_October 3rd, the day after the eclipse..._

Matt Parkman was an LAPD officer, and he hated it. Oh, he loved working in law enforcement, but he didn't want to be just another officer. No, Parkman was sure he had the makings of a detective. But, for the third time in a row, he had failed the exam because of his stupid dyslexia.

He stood outside the scene of the latest horrific LA crime spree, directing traffic to prevent a crowd from building up. A quick glance over his shoulder showed him two female FBI agents entering the charming suburban house. He was familiar with one of them- Audrey Hanson. She'd been along with the standard team on several recent homicides. She had a short blonde bob, and her freckled face reminded him of a terrier for some reason...

_Don't let him hurt me..._

"Did you hear that?" he asked the other officer with him. The man shook his head. Distracted, Parkman drifted across the lawn and into the house. He was briefly disturbed by the sight of a woman impaled with dozens of kitchen implements against the outside wall of the stairwell. He turned away from the grisly scene.

_Please don't let him hurt me... **Please...**_

Parkman shook his head, trying to figure out where the soft voice- the voice of a child- was coming from. He passed through the kitchen of the house, ducking past other agents. He stared for a moment at the man who was sitting at the kitchen table. His body was frozen solid, and his head was sawed off. The brain was missing. Parkman shuddered.

A snatch of conversation whisped past him from the two FBI agents. "I have a theory," Audrey said. The other agent replied snidely, but Audrey continued doggedly, "Skull sawed open, brain missing, it's just like the others! It's Sylar again." "There _is _no Sylar," the other woman said sharply. "The garbled words of a dying victim, nothing more. Finding the little girl is the priority."

_Don't let him get me, don't let him hurt me, please please PLEASE!!!!_

Suddenly, Parkman had a hunch on where the voice was coming from. He pushed past the FBI agents. The redhead grabbed his arm. "You're not supposed to be here!" she insisted, but Audrey laid a calming hand on her shoulder. Parkman tapped at the paneling under the stairs until he discovered one board that was loose. He pushed sharply against the panel until it swung open, revealing a tiny concealed room. Inside crouched a young girl, maybe nine or ten. Her sandy blonde hair was falling in her eyes and she was shaking, clutching a stuffed animal to her chest. He had found Molly Walker.

"It's okay," Parkman said soothingly, listening to the child's terrified thoughts. "It's okay, I'm not gonna hurt you. I'm a cop, okay? It's alright. You're safe. He's not gonna hurt you." Molly hesitated, then threw herself into his arms. He held her tightly, making soothing noises as she cried, and carrying her away from where he had been standing, away from the impaled body of her mother...

--

Niki Sanders returns home to find that the garage is completely cleared of all blood and gore, and a shiny new red convertible is parked out front of the house. So that explains the missing four hours...

She opens the trunk of the convertible while Micah runs inside, to find the battered bodies of Linderman's thugs, a map lying atop the carnage. She picks up the map and studies it. Then she calls Micah out to the car, slamming the trunk shut as she does so. "We're going to Grandma's house for a few days," she announces. "Go pack your things.

They spend several hours on the road, and the boy genius falls asleep in the back seat. As darkness falls, Niki arrives at the location marked in blood on the map. They are deep in the southern California deserts, and she is surprised to find a spade thrust, gleaming, into the dry soil. Glancing back to make sure that Micah is still sound asleep, she steps out of the car and begins to dig, realizing what she is supposed to do...

--

_Manhattan,_

_October 4th..._

Peter stood on top of the swingset outside the children's hospital, staring up at the sky. Slowly, he tipped forward, allowing himself to drop gracefully off the structure... only to land with a thump in the sand.

Glancing over, I saw when my fellow spectator- a chubby boy in a Superman shirt and a red cape, sipping a jumbo Mr. SlushO- rolled his eyes. I tell you, some people have no respect for real education. I sighed and rose to my feet, striding over to where he was trying to rub the grit out of his eyes. "Peter, this clearly isn't working. We've got to try something else if we're going to get you airborne by the end of my lunch break." I offered my hand to him, hauling him back to his feet, trying to think back years to Kara's flying lessons. An idea formed hazily in the back of my mind, fueled mainly by instinct and Kara's repeated chant of: "Mental state is everything! Happy thoughts, just like Peter Pan!"

"This is gonna sound totally crazy," I said slowly, "But so far you've only flown around Nathan. And I could be wrong, but it didn't look like he was having this kind of trouble learning how to fly. So maybe you should... I don't know, focus on Nathan, or something?"

Peter shrugged, giving me an it's-worth-a-try look. He closed his eyes and for a moment, nothing appeared to be happening. And then, suddenly, he rose into the air. One foot... then two... four... six...

"Okay, that's enough!" I said, and Peter's eyes snapped open. He briefly lost control, dropping a few feet before regaining the height quickly. "Well done," I said quietly.

A thud from behind made me turn around. The fat kid had dropped his Mr. Slush-O.

Rolling my eyes, I turned back to Peter. "So, it worked," I said absently. "I wonder why?" Peter shrugged, looking around him in wonder. It was the kind of look you would expect to see from a little boy on Christmas morning. I hadn't seen that look on anyone's face in a long time. It made me feel kind of warm and fuzzy inside, knowing that I'd helped put it there. "You wanna keep working on this?" I asked. "Or is hovering enough for now?"

In answer, Peter dropped to the sand. "Wow. I did it. I did it!" He threw his arms around me in a spontaneous hug. "Pete! Can't breathe!" I exclaimed. He let go, a remorseful look on his face. "That's better. Well, we've officially proved that you're not going crazy." His face fell even further, and I wondered what I'd said wrong.

In an attempt to repair the damage with a touch of humor, I said, "Look, I probably should be heading back to the office, or your brother will hand me my ass on a plate, with a side of fresh pink slip." He chuckled, nodding appreciatively.

We walked back the way we'd come in silence for a few minutes, when Peter suddenly said, "You know, I don't know that it's just flying."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Maybe it's nothing, but a couple days ago I went to see Isaac Mendez, the painter guy, y'know? Anyway, after that, I kinda... drew the future. It was just stick figures, but it came true."

I nodded slowly. "So you're saying that maybe you can... I don't know... _mimic_ other people's superpowers, or something?"

"I don't know. Maybe. Something. I just don't... I don't know what any of this is."

The quiet desperation in his voice brought home a miasmic thought that had been hovering in the back of my mind since this had started. I smacked myself on the forehead. "I've been thinking about this all wrong!" I exclaimed. "I've been treating this like it's so incredibly commonplace. And for me, it kinda is. But for you? Nathan? You must be so confused, and I had no idea... Anyway, we've been focusing so much on figuring out if you actually _can_ do... whatever... that we haven't even gotten into _how_ or _why_."

Unbidden, an image from the previous night sprang to mind. "You know," I said slowly, "Tanya had this book. She was in a really weird mood when I got home yesterday, and she was reading this scientific book, which was weird for her. Activating Evolution, by this Indian guy, Suresh or something. But it was about genetic mutations or evolution or something like that. Maybe there's something in there that could explain whatever's happening."

Peter nodded slowly. "That would be helpful," he said. "This is all so... It's a dream come true, but it's pretty hard not knowing what's happening to me." _I know the feeling, buddy,_ I thought to myself.

--

Claire tramped across the football field, pent-up anger showing even in the way she walked. As Zach came running up behind her, she said, "Did you know they're gonna make Jackie the grand marshal of the homecoming parade?" Acid filled her voice as she mentioned the name of her on-again-off-again friend. "They're gonna put her on top of the fire truck. They should put her _under_ the fire truck."

Zach sighed. "That's great. Look, you know that tape?"

"What tape?" she asked densely.

"The _tape_. The one where you were killing yourself like a hundred times?"

Claire nodded dismissively. "Yeah, about that, can we just please keep that under wraps?"

Zach hunched his shoulders awkwardly. "Yeah, about that... it's gone. It was in my backpack, and now it's just gone." Claire rounded on him, prepared to dispense furious justice on her friend, when someone crashed into her.

Brody, star quarterback of the Union Wells High football team and Claire's not-so-secret crush, slammed headfirst into Claire at a dead charge, tackling her to the ground. He rolled away from her, and Zach was disgusted to see that her head had been twisted completely backwards. He winced as she snapped it back into the normal, forward-facing position. "Oh my god, Claire!" Brody yelled, ripping his helmet off and offering her a hand up. "I didn't see you, are you okay?"

"Yeah," Claire said breathlessly. "Yeah, I'm fine." She flashed a brilliant smile at Brody, then turned to Zach and hissed in a deadly quiet voice, "We have _got_ to find that tape."

She whirled around, bounding over to where her fellow cheerleaders were gathered. She raised her arms, half-dancing to them, and whooping. "I'm okay!" she called.

--

"How was school?" Bennet asked his daughter, the light of the small laptop he held shining across his horn-rimmed glasses.

Claire grinned cheekily. "Very school-like. How was work?"

"Very work-like," Bennet said, returning her smile. "Listen, Claire, I've been thinking about what you asked your mother about the other day. About finding your parents. Your real parents, I mean. And I think that you're mature enough to make that decision now."

The cheerleader's eyes widened in a combination of apprehension and excitement. "Really?" she said quietly.

Bennet nodded. "Yes. I've been holding back for awhile because... well, I'm used to you being my little girl. _Mine_ only, and not belonging to some other people. The thought of losing you just breaks my heart."

Claire shook her head. "You'll always be my dad," she said. "Thank you Daddy. I've got to go do my homework." She left the room, heading up the stairs to her bedroom.

Once she was safely gone, Bennet glanced back at the laptop, restarting the video he had paused the moment she entered the room. He watched as Claire fell from the top of an old mining structure. The audio came across quietly but clearly: "This is Claire Bennet. And that was attempt number six." The crunch of bones snapping back into place sounded as the cheerleader in the video relocated her spine.

Bennet smiled sadly at his daughter in the video. "It really does break my heart..."

--

**Another Note From Lara: Ooh, is Horn-Rimmed Glasses Guy good or evil? Whose agenda is he working on? His, or someone elses? What, exactly, does he have to do with Chandra Suresh's death, Isaac's paintings, and Linderman and Angela's plots? All will be revealed... eventually. When I get around to it. But then again, most of you already know the answers. But whatever. I love being melodramatic; humor me. Also, you could help with the humoring me thing by REVIEWING!!!!!!**

**PUSH BUTTON**

**I**

**I**

**V**


	17. Discoveries Happen at the Weirdest Times

**A Note From Lara: Wow. Begging for reviews used to work so well... _sigh_ Guess you can't win 'em all. But I know you'll all review _this time, RIGHT_? * _crickets_ * Really? Wow. Cold, man. Cold. **

**Anyway, I'm telling a lot of Matt Parkman's story in this chapter, so just to be sure you're not confused... basically, I'm covering several days worth of time in one exerpt, but the segments bordering it with the NYC crew (Peter, Tanya, Dianne, Isaac, etc.) take place within just the one day. If I confused you more, I'm sorry, but I'm doing my best to explain the weird timeline I'm taking here...**

--

I returned to work, surreptitiously eavesdropping on Nathan and Peter's conversation as they moved away from where I was sitting. I was very glad I was used to picking out single sounds in chaotic environments, or I would've been lost.

"--there's this lady reporter asking questions about why you jumped off the roof the other night. She's getting close. And we can't tell her the truth. Snoopy bitch, can't she just mind her own business?" Nathan monologued. I smiled, reminded briefly of Lois.

"So I tried it again," Peter said quietly, completely oblivious to everything Nathan had just said.

Nathan handed a sheef of papers to Emily, a quiet redhead in charge of polls. "Tried wh--? Oh, _that_."

"It worked," he said. "Dianne's teaching me." I watched as the elder Petrelli turned and raised his eyebrows at his brother. Then he immediately turned and made his way back to my desk, Peter trailing behind him.

Nathan planted himself firmly in front of me. "What do you think you're doing?" he demanded. "I told you to _discourage_ this... this nonsense! And now you're _teaching_ him?"

I folded my arms, sitting up straighter. I was beginning to understand why so many secretaries were pushed around so easily... it was very difficult to show your spine when it was constantly contorted into a submissive position by these awkward chairs... I opened my mouth to defend myself from the Wrath of Nathan, when Peter interrupted me.

"Dianne has some experience teaching people to fly."

I shot him a glare. Not exactly the kind of thing I wanted shouted all around the room, but too late now.

Nathan cocked his head at me, narrowing his eyes. "What does he mean? Is that... is that true?"

Smiling predatorially, I said assuredly, "Oh come _on_ Nathan. What did you think I was doing before I came to work for you? Living off my parents' money? Yeah right. The Mortens were plenty rich, sure, but it all got invested in some big-shot paper company in Texas and I can't touch a cent of it. No, I spent the last decade of my life doing _far _more interesting things than lounging around the family home. Yeah, I've taught a few people to fly. Is this a problem for you?"

Yeah, I know, I know, I sounded like a cocky teenager again, but what can I say? My rebellious streak didn't die that day in the basement of Luthorcorp. It just got honed, to be used only for special occasions. I figured this qualified.

A stunned silence followed my outburst. Then Nathan said, "I'll be speaking to you in my office later, Ms. Morten. Pete, you're coming to my fundraiser tonight, right? Fend off the advances of my cute interns?" Peter laughed as Nathan walked away.

More soberly, he turned to me. "Sorry. Maybe I shouldn't have said anything. Nathan can be kind of--"

"Don't worry about it," I assured him. "I can handle myself with Nathan. I've done lots worse. And besides, maybe it's time the boss knew he has the original Batgirl working for him. Then again, he'd probably call me as crazy as he tried to call you. And I don't respect him enough to demonstrate my... various talents. I'll figure something out."

Peter sighed, shaking his head and smiling sadly at me. "Nathan's not that bad, you know," he said.

"I know. He's a nice guy, and I actually like him well enough," I admitted. "But I have absolutely no respect for him. That's what I base my treatment of people on- respect, not liking."

Peter rolled his eyes; I was pretty sure I'd mentioned this once or twice before. More like six times, but who's counting? "Don't you have some old guy's IV to change?" I said, grinning. He flashed me back his familiar crooked smile and walked out the door.

--

It had been a strange couple of days. Parkman had first been arrested by Audrey, the blonde FBI. She had suspected him of having orchestrated the murders of Molly Walker's parents in order to appear a hero. She had cited his repeated failure of the detective exams as motive, and had been skeptical when he claimed to have 'heard' the girl crying in his head.

But eventually, he was able to prove what he suspected- that he could hear peoples thoughts. And Audrey Hanson made a complete turnaround, offering him a job as an FBI consultant, working with her.

He had arrived home to tell his wife Janice the good news, only to find her in a snit because he'd missed their couples therapy. Matt had tried to apologize, tried to explain, but she hadn't listened. Finally, hearing her thoughts- _I wish you would just leave_- he had gone to a local bar to try and make sense of the radical shift that had taken place in his life.

Matt had laughed, listening to the divergent thoughts of a couple on a date across the bar. But then something had happened. He had seen a dark-skinned man with the high cheekbones of a Haitian sitting across the bar, and attempted to listen in on _his_ thoughts. But the Haitian simply stared at him, and Parkman's head filled with white noise. He wrenched his mind away, and stood up to leave, unnerved.

But the slow tingle he had felt creeping through his body since he'd first taken a sip of his beer overwhelmed him, and he had collapsed to the ground.

The next thing he knew, he was waking up on the couch in his living room, and a hysterical Janice told him that he had been missing for almost a day. He had no memories of anything after seeing the Haitian man in the bar... and was left with a souvenir. Two small black marks, like scars from a snakebite, adorned the back right side of his neck.

Regardless, he reported to Audrey's office in the Los Angeles FBI headquarters at promptly nine o'clock for his briefing as her consultant. He had waited years for a chance like this, and a strange disappearance wasn't going to stop him.

Audrey dropped a file in front of him, pacing around the room like a caged animal. "About five months ago, I started investigating a series of murders, all across the country. Arizona, Washington, Florida... scattered around like that. I was in New Jersey just last week, and Colorado the week before that. I'm convinced their connected, but because the MO seems to vary slightly each time, my superiors are mostly just humoring me since I have nothing more important to work on. Usually there's at least one person involved in each of the murders with the top of the head sliced off. Nasty stuff. Anyway, last month we found one victim still alive. We were able to get a few words out of him before he died. He kept repeating one name over and over- Sylar."

"Sylar?" Parkman asked.

Audrey nodded. "Like the watch brand. We thought it might be a lead for awhile, but it eventually ran dry. Thousands of people own Sylar watches. Right now the only thing we have to go on is Molly Walker- she may have seen something. But she won't talk to anyone, hasn't spoken a word since you pulled her out of that hidden room. If what you claim about reading minds is true, she doesn't have to."

She led him down into the bowels of the building, to the saferoom where they were holding Molly. As they walked, she continued to explain the situation. "So now I've got twenty murders I have no idea how to expl--" A shrill little girl's scream interrupted her. Audrey whipped out her gun, yelling, "He's here! It's Sylar!" and charged down the hall, Parkman following right behind her.

They arrived to find a tall, dark-haired man pulling the young girl out of the safe room by the elbow. She screamed and fought against his pull, but he was too strong. "Let go of her!" Audrey yelled. The man released Molly and ran, the blonde agent chasing him down with a speed that seemed too great for her small frame.

Parkman paused to make sure that Molly was alright, calming her terrified whimpers, before following his superior down the dark hall. He found Audrey struggling to push her own gun hand away from her temple. Some force other than her own willpower seemed to be directing her limbs... and a little further down the hall stood the infamous Sylar. Parkman noticed absently that he was garbed in a long black trenchcoat, just like a villain in a comic book. Less like the comics was the black baseball cap rammed over his black hair. But the man exuded an eerie sense of dread, and the entire effect was incredibly menacing.

Without thinking, Parkman pulled his gun from its holster and fired three bullets into the man's heart. Audrey collapsed to the floor, flinging her gun away. "You okay?" Parkman asked. She nodded, and he turned back to look at the body on the floor...

...which wasn't there. Sylar was gone. And there wasn't even a trace of blood. Something weird was _definitely_ going on here.

--

I glanced around the party. Cocktails at the campaign office... what kind of stupid PR move was that, anyway?

Nathan had ended up giving me the third degree about just _what_ I had been talking about earlier, but I wouldn't say. Made up some kind of bullshit about time spent with martial arts masters in Mongolia. I think maybe he bought it, but I wasn't entirely sure. All I knew was that he hadn't fired me, so that was alright.

When I had arrived back at the apartment, Tanya had still been giving me the cold shoulder for my rude treatment of her a few days before, but she gave signs that she was warming up again. Such as actually replying when I asked to borrow her mascara to get ready for this stupid party. Oh well, she'd come around. People always did; I should know.

I was bored to tears. Most of these people were so _boring_. Analysts, and politicians, and influential people of all kinds. All the sort of people I tried to avoid unless it was in helping Bruce or Lois to expose the corrupt truth of their "operations."

Not to mention, I felt very plain in with this group of the glamorous-appearing (emphasis on "appearing") affluents of New York City. Although my dark hair was coiffed and I'd actually bothered with extensive makeup, and although I was wearing a pretty dark blue dress that brought out my eyes, I was practically invisible. Then again, I was used to invisible; I'd kind of made it a point to make it my way of life.

But this was a different kind of invisible, and I didn't like it. Not a male eye in the place lingered on me for more than a second in passing. I'd never been beautiful, and long since accepted it. I was pretty enough sure, but nothing special. Until just recently, I hadn't minded too much, having had more important things to worry about. But now that I was trying to rediscover "normal" (good luck with that one, given recent circumstances), it hit home that I wasn't the kind of girl to catch eyes and boyfriends.

I was irked with myself for being so melancholy at what passed for a party. But standing here getting myself drunk wasn't going to do me any good. It had been awhile since I'd trolled the police database for information on Sam's murder. Maybe I could actually do something productive with my time. I sidled across the room to where my desk sat in an out-of-the-way corner, and turned on the computer...

--

Peter tugged at his tie, making sure it was straight. He had spent his life in suits, because of his lawyer father's frequent business functions he was required to attend, but that didn't mean he liked formal wear any better. His slicked-back hair felt strange although Heidi, Nathan's wife, was constantly telling him it made him look "dashing."

He swirled his drink around in its glass, a stiff Scotch. He needed it after the day he'd had. From flying, to arguing with Nathan, to Simone... ah, that was the thing, wasn't it? Even now, he wasn't entirely sure he'd done the right thing. Before, at least he'd had regular access to the girl of his dreams, but now? Odds were good he wouldn't see much of her. At least there had been that parting comment she'd made. "I'll miss you. But this is New York City; people always run into each other sooner or later. Maybe it'll be sooner." It gave him hope, despite the fact that she had a boyfriend.

That afternoon, he had quit working for Charles Deveaux. He had become a nurse in the first place to try and help people. To save the world one person at a time, as he had commented to Simone. But now, with what was happening to him, there was a chance that he could do so much more, and it seemed counterproductive to keep playing doctor like this.

Suddenly, a tap on his shoulder made him turn around. His breath caught as he found Simone standing right behind him, looking stunning in a beautiful red dress. "I guess it _was_ sooner, rather than later," she said with a smile.

He nodded, smiling, and raised his glass. "To destiny," he said. "May we recognize it when we see it."

She raised her own glass, something mixed and fruity. "To love," she replied, a distant look on her face. "May we stay away from it when it's no good for us." They drank. "You know what you said this morning about having changed? About being meant for something... bigger?" Peter smiled, remembering the conversation. "Well, I noticed it. There was something... different. A look in your eye. A-- a confidence."

Peter couldn't help the huge grin from spreading across his face. She'd noticed. It was as if someone had lit a fire in his heart. She'd noticed how he'd changed, even without knowing the reason why. Maybe now was the time to tell her how he felt...?

No.

Yes. _Yes_.

He loved her, he had since the very first minute he'd met her. Her confidence, that dark edge of sarcasm that underlay their first conversation, her strength... it had caught his attention. It had kindled within him a massive crush that had turned into something deeper within a few short days of spending time together at her father's bedside. Yes, he would tell her how he felt. It was no longer complicated by the fact that he worked for her father.

Peter opened his mouth to speak the necessary words. "Simone, there's something I should've--"

A tug on the sleeve of his jacket caused him to break off and turn around. Dianne was standing beside him, wearing the most feminine thing he had ever seen her in. "Hello Simone," she said. "Nice to see you again. You don't mind if I steal Peter for a moment? I have something I have to ask him." God, could her timing be any worse? What could she _possibly_ have to ask that was so important it couldn't wait another ten minutes?

But something in her eyes just _dared_ him not to come with her. It was that challenging stare that she wore too well, defiant and determined to have her way.

With a sigh, he turned back to Simone. "We'll talk later," he promised. The beautiful woman nodded at him as he was lead away by his hot-headed mentor.

--

**Next time:**

**Dianne explains what's so important**

**Nathan pisses Peter off, with surprising results**

**We finally find out what's up with Mohinder**

**Please review? I really, really hate how pathetic I sound, begging like this, and I want to be able to stop. So... pretty pretty please?**


	18. Theory Proven Right

**A Note From Lara: Alrighty then. Finally my pathetic, low pleading is answered! You people are the best! And I hope none of you were huge fans of Simone/Peter, because it's just not gonna happen. I mean, I like Simone well enough, but she doesn't deserve Peter. Isaac, sure, because she could actually keep him sane, unlike everybody else who just pissed him off. So right now I'm all about the Sisaac. (Ew, that's a weird-sounding ship name)**

--

"What do you want?" Peter demanded of me.

I sighed. "I was scanning the internet, trying to find some information on Sam's murder, and I might have found something. I wanted to show you," I said placatingly.

"_This_ was what was so important you had to interrupt me right before I told Simone how I feel about her?"

Immediately, I felt intensely remorseful, and clapped a hand over my mouth. "Oh my god... is my timing really that bad?" I mumbled through my fingers. He nodded, looking so dejected that I felt, if that were possible, even worse. "Oh crap. Do you want me to... I don't know. Help reset the mood? I'm very good at setting up random "accidents." Elevators get stuck between floors, a seemingly out-of-control taxi you can rescue her from...?"

Peter shook his head, a sour expression fixed firmly in place. "No thanks. I'll work it out for myself."

I shrugged. "Okay then. Well, do you still want to see what I found?" I asked hesitantly. He nodded, still looking pretty ticked. I led him to where my computer screen showed a website I'd found. I pointed at the screen. "This is a conspiracy theory website I found. OutToGetUs . com. Kind of an out-there shot, but frankly, anybody who's spent any time with Vic Sage* knows that conspiracy theorists are actually right more often than not. And believe me, I've spent _way_ more time with that whack than I'd like to remember.

"Anyway, there was an article that caught my attention: 'Super Serial Killer Rampage.' In a nutshell, it says that there's been a series of almost twenty murders across the country with a similar MO. Top of the head sawed off, brain missing, no sign of any actual physical contact. Supposedly one dying victim mentioned a name: Sylar. Like the watch brand. And here's the other thing. A big chunk of the victims were in the news a week or so before their death. Unusual feats, impossible rescues... things that, from my experience, could only have been achieved through the use of superpowers."

Peter looked at me, and I could tell that he had all the puzzle pieces but couldn't see the whole picture. I knew the feeling. "You remember Tanya's book I told you about? The one about evolved humans? That professor guy was right. Humanity is evolving. Developing superpowers. And someone's hunting them." It was the first time I'd voiced the suspicion that was growing in my head.

Stunned, Peter met my eyes. He opened his mouth to speak... and at that exact moment, Nathan stepped up to the podium to make his little speech that I'd discovered was standard at every PR campaign he did.

"Good evening. I'm sorry about the weather. If I'm elected, I promise to try to do something about that," the would-be senator said, eliciting chuckles from the crowd. "I'd like to welcome you all here, on behalf of my family, my entire campaign staff. I'm sure that you know my brave wife would be here by my side, were she able. The life-altering event of my father's death is really what prompted me to run for Congress. My father hid a deep depression -- an illness, really -- up until the day he died. His loving wife, his attentive children, his loyal friends -- we all knew about it, and yet he suffered alone. As many of you might have read, my brother Peter had an accident. But what I have kept from the press thus far is that Peter barely survived a suicide attempt."

I looked at Peter, and saw a look of horror on his face as the whole room turned to stare at us. I caught Simone's eyes across the crowd, and she flashed me a sympathetic look. Nathan continued, "My first instinct was to keep his illness hidden. But no one should suffer alone. Because we're all connected somehow. You, me, everyone in this city. And we have to look out for each other."

Peter glared at his brother, then stalked out of the room, out into the pouring rain. Within seconds, he was out of sight.

Shortly thereafter, I was pulling on my long black coat and switching my high-heeled pumps for a pair of leather boots I kept stashed in the bottom drawer of my desk. Simone rushed up to me. "Where is he?" she asked.

"Peter?" I asked. "That's what I'm trying to go find out. God knows what trouble he'll get into if I don't go find him." More true that Simone even knew. If he had been practicing the levitation thing any more since we'd parted that afternoon, he could potentially be halfway across the country. I tugged the second boot on, huffing out my breath from the effort. "It's not true, you know," I said after a moment. "Nathan's a royal ass, and Peter's the only sane one in his whole damn family." Well, technically I didn't have the right to say that, because I'd never met Angela Petrelli, but from what I'd read about her and her late husband...

"Yeah, I know Peter's not crazy," Simone said. "I want to help you find him." And just with that statement, my opinion of Simone shot up about thirty percent.

I nodded. "Okay. I'm going to head back toward our apartment building and look there. You check with Isaac- Peter was pretty interested in the whole painting-the-future thing." Simone looked like she was about to protest, but I cut her off, told her my cell phone number so she could call me if she found him, and marched out the door into the pouring rain.

Thirty minutes of searching and a walk that seemed longer than it really was later, I was wringing myself out on the lintel of my apartment. And suddenly, I realized that I could hear Peter's voice from inside the apartment, as well as Tanya's soft laughter. I burst into the vibrantly yellow kitchen. "Peter?" I demanded. "Yeah, I'm here," came the response from the next room.

Upon entering the living room, I was welcomed by a most unusual company. Peter, Tanya, and Spens, the loud upstairs neighbor, were sitting in the mismatched chairs, talking intently. They stopped when I came in.

"It's okay, we can tell her," Peter said. "Tanya, you know where she's been, what she's done. She'll know exactly what to do."

I dropped down on the sofa next to him. "While your confidence in me is cheering, what exactly are you talking about?"

Peter looked at Tanya, who looked at Spens, who looked at Peter. And I just looked at them all, getting frustrated by their non-answer. Finally, Tanya stood up. "Alright. Peter told us what happened tonight, and then the day of the eclipse. About how you've been teaching him to fly. Mainly because he wanted to borrow Activating Evolution, but I guess he was mad about what Nathan said too--"

"Tell me about it," I said. "Speaking of which, I should probably text Simone and let her know I found you. She was worried." Peter started at that, and his face took on that faraway look he got when his mind was drifting.

"Head out of the clouds, Romeo," I said, whipping out my phone and shooting off a message to Simone. "Come on, what's up?"

Tanya said, "Well, maybe it'll be easier if I show you. Spens?" He nodded, and within seconds, the apartment was shaking and a framed picture of Tanya's family dropped off the wall. I stared at him as his eyes closed. A moment later, the earthquake stopped. Then it was Tanya's turn. She raised her hands, and a transclucent sphere of shimmering purple surrounded her.

Silence filled the apartment as she released the force field. "So..." I said after a moment. "Let me get this straight. There's an eclipse, and all of a sudden _you_ get superpowers and _you_ get superpowers and _you_ get superpowers... and _I_ get a zit. Is there _any_ justice in the world?" Peter laughed at that.

"Alright then. Hey Pete, you remember that theory we had this afternoon?" I asked. He gave me a confused look. "The one about maybe you can absorb the powers of other people? How about we test this theory?"

Tanya looked at me as I said this. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"Peter didn't mention that?" I asked in surprise. "Since he was so eager to share before, that surprises me. Basically, we think that the flying thing isn't actually his superpower, mainly because after he met this guy who can paint the future, he drew a stick figure sketch that came true. It's not much to go on, but I've solved cases on less."

"Solved cases?" Spens asked. "What do you mean?"

I looked at Tanya and Peter. "I think that's an explanation for a later time," I said. "Now is _so_ not time to get into my life story. So, what about it Peter? Try to make us some pretty purple lights."

Peter focused, eyes clenched shut. A swirl of tiny violet energy blots appeared around his fists, forming vague spheres, although the little sheets of force field seeds never quite connected with the other ones. He gritted his teeth, trying harder. The tiny fields congealed a little more, but not much.

Finally, he gave up, panting with the effort. Tanya and Spens stared at him, and I smiled smugly. "Well, that's that," I said, a little awed. "If you can get a handle on this thing, you have the potential to be... insanely powerful."

Peter looked up at us, his face tired and strained, but full of hope. "We could change the world," he said quietly.

I smiled. "Yes. That was always Oliver Queen's rationale."

"Wait, Oliver Queen?" Spens asked. I sighed. Looked like I'd have to give him an explanation now after all...

--

"Isaac?" Simone said quietly, looking around his darkened loft. The painting on the floor, the big mural of New York exploding, seemed almost to glow. She had gotten Dianne's text, but she still wanted to come here. _Needed_ to come here.

"Simone," he said from the darkness. "What are you doing here? Thought you were done with me. At least, that's what you said this morning. You or the drugs. You or the paintings. You or saving the world." He sounded bitter, and when she turned on the light, he looked even worse. His face was pale, and his long dark hair was ratty, not held back with his usual headband.

She shook her head. "Isaac, I wasn't thinking right this morning. If these paintings really mean this much to you, I'll try to help you understand it." Well, the truth was that Peter's interest in them was actually the reason for her change in heart. What Dianne had said was true- Peter was about the sanest person she knew, and if _he_ thought it wasn't the heroin talking...

Isaac looked at her strangely. "Are you sure? You seemed pretty certain when you walked out the door..."

Quickly, she shook her head. "We've been through too much together to just give up the first time you decide you can paint the future," she quipped, half-laughing. Isaac didn't laugh with her, but he smiled.

--

Peter left that evening with the genetics book tucked firmly under his arm and a smile on his face. Spens schlumped out, barely able to walk straight due to the vast amounts of vodka he'd consumed after hearing my 'origin story.'

Tanya and I sat conversing late into the night. I apologized for my abruptness a few days before, and she told me about the incident she and Spens had set about in the laundry room the evening of the eclipse. That was what they figured had caused it, or had at least been the catalyst for it- the eclipse. They didn't know why or how, but since it had all started happening right around that time, it made sense.

Then we spent a good deal of time abusing Nathan again. Tanya agreed that he had a severe case of recto-cranial inversion (translation: head up the ass), and needed someone to whack his brain back into place with a sledgehammer. She suggested violent and swiftly enacted revenge for what he'd done to Peter this evening, but I, for once, preached tolerance. Peter loved his older brother, for no apparent reason that I could see, and I'd respect that.

"Of course, if you were to, y'know, "accidentally" pay somebody to assassinate him..." I said slyly, mostly joking. Tanya giggled hysterically.

--

Mohinder Suresh picked up the gun that he usually kept by his side these days as the door began to slide open. Ever since he had found someone bugging his apartment, he had been extra-paranoid.

Eden McCain, his neighbor and a friend of his father's, entered the apartment, and Mohinder put the gun down. Eden was a few years younger than him, and very pretty, with close-cropped brown hair and large brown eyes. "Hi," she said. "I brought macaroni and cheese. It's what Americans eat when they want to commit suicide slowly. Your father always said mine was the best he'd ever had. But he was from India, so..."

Mohinder smiled. Eden had been a saving grace in his search for answers. Her rational head and surprising brand of logic had helped him on more than one occasion. She had driven away the man who had been bugging his apartment. She had found the zip drive that had contained the algorithm his father had built to find these evolved humans. The algorithm that made no sense, of course, just like every other thing his father had done since he'd become obsessed with finding these people.

He fiddled with his laptop. Suddenly, he felt something along the inside edge, wedged inside the casing... Mohinder pulled it out.

It was a notebook. And on the back page... an address. An address that pointed to a man named Sylar. "Look at this!" he exclaimed to Eden. "It's Sylar's address. You remember that phone message we found, from Sylar? And I had a tape that had all of my father's notes on his "Patient Zero" recorded on it. It was labeled 'Sylar'." Mohinder flipped to the back of the notebook and found a key taped inside.

"So..." Eden said, picking the tape off. "What do you think we should do?"

--

Very early the next morning, I awoke to a very surreal feeling. My roommate, my best friend, _and_ my upstairs neighbor all had superpowers. Pretty cool ones, truth be told.

As I'd asked of Peter just two days before, what was it with me and flying people? I'd gone from being a part-time member of the freaking Justice League, hanging out with Supergirl and Batman and all the rest of the universally famous crew, to living in an apartment in backwater apartment in Manhattan. And then, in one day, my whole world had shifted back into the more-than-average category with just a tiny push. My best friend had superpowers he could barely control. My roommate was casually using force fields as if she'd done it her whole life. My neighbor randomly caused earthquakes for no apparent reason. And a man had painted the future. _My_ future. Looked like "normal life" was out of the question.

But that was alright. I'd discovered that normalcy wasn't _near _as much fun as it looked on TV. Give me a good old-fashioned life-or-death-save-the-world situation any day.

With that comforting thought, I rolled over and went back to sleep, waiting for a time when the sun, and not the clock, told me that it was actually another day.

Two hours later, I woke up with a loud scream. And I wasn't the only one.

--

***Vic Sage is a conspiracy theorist who works with the Justice League as The Question. He's really paranoid, but he always knows what he's talking about. In a life or death situation, I'd put Vic over Bruce Wayne as the world's greatest detective.**

**And I know that none of you can _POSSIBLY_ be as excited about this story as I am. After all, you have no clue where it's going, all the fun twists and turns I have planned. But it would be really nice if I knew just how excited you actually are. _If_ you are.... Which I hope is true. Because if I'm the only one who's psyched about this story, I'm going to be very, very depressed...**


	19. Nightmare

**A Note From Lara: Alright, to increase the suspense, the explanation for the mini-cliff last chapter is at the _end_ of this chapter. Claire and Mohinder's stories come first. (Oh, and btw, Gardendale is a real town in Texas that's very close to the real Odessa, TX. Just FYI.)**

--

Mohinder walked down the street, clutching a copy of his father's book under his arm, musing on what he and Eden had found the night before. It frightened him.

He had gone to Mr. Sylar's apartment, and attempted to use the key Eden had found to open the door. But the key didn't work, and so he had been forced to break the door down. Once inside, he had discovered a spotlessly clean apartment. It looked like someone impossibly neat and obsessively organized lived here; not at all what he would have expected.

But when he pushed open a pair of Dutch doors to reveal a series of claustrophobic, unfinished rooms, a sense of unease began to prick up his spine. In the first of the rooms, he found another copy of his father's map of the world, complete with pins marking the location of evolved humans. But this map... there were so many _more_ pins and strings criss-crossing the paper. And along with it, there were photographs. Photographs, articles, rough sketches, each one of them tacked beneath one of the pushpins. Mohinder recognized one of the men in the pictures. He had seen his face often enough on campaign advertisements; Nathan Petrelli was, apparently, running for Congress.

Curiosity unsatisfied, Mohinder pushed through a black plastic curtain to reveal a tiny concrete room lit by a single unshaded bulb. Bile rose in his throat as he surveyed the small space. The walls were daubed with red paint, spelling out a horrifying repentence. _I have sinned... sinned... I have sinned... God forgive me... I have sinned..._

"Good god," he had whispered. "What was my father involved with?" And now, this morning, he was on his way to warn Nathan Petrelli.

--

Claire stared at the bonfire, at the effigy of the opposing team's mascot she had made the night before, and listened to Jacky loudly recount tales of "her" adventures in the train wreck. This illicit celebratory party in the desert halfway between Odessa and Gardendale wasn't really where she wanted to be. Even though she didn't want anybody to know about her freak power, it irked her that Jacky was taking all the credit for what she'd done.

Brody, the quarterback she was so enamored of, came up to her. "You know," he said, gesturing to the effigy, "I'd have stuffed his head with firecrackers, but that's just me."

"That would've been funny," she replied, half-smiling.

"You okay?" he asked. "You've looked kinda bummed lately. You're almost always the first one to laugh at a joke, but I haven't heard you laugh in awhile."

Claire gave him a flirtatious look. "Have you been following me?" she asked. All at once, a loud pop made her turn around. The effigy's head exploded with a bang. Whipping around to face Brody once again, she laughed. "Did you put firecrackers in his head just for me?"

He responded by kissing her firmly. When he pulled back, Claire grinned at him and allowed him to lead her away from the fire. As they disappeared from the light of the fire, Lauri Trammel watched them go, a worried look on her face. She bit her lip, wishing she had the courage to follow Claire and warn her of the danger...

--

Claire pulled away from Brody's close embrace. "Let's just take a little break," she said, breaking the contact of their lips. He asked her what was wrong, and she replied noncommitally. She _knew_ what was wrong. A lot of things were wrong. Jacky stealing her glory, the fact that she was a complete freak; she wasn't going to fill Brody in on any of that, though.

Brody tried to begin kissing her again, but she pushed him away. She just wasn't in that kind of mood. But suddenly, sweet Brody was less sweet and more pushy. She told him no, not now, but he didn't listen.

She stood, trying to leave him, get back to the bonfire, but he tackled her to the ground, landing on top of her. Claire could feel the bulge in his jeans and instead of exciting her, she was disgusted as he forced her hands above her head, holding her down. She knew she had just this one chance to act, and kicked him sharply in the stomach. He lurched away with a groan and she tried to run.

His hand snagged at her back, pushing her forward in an attempt to drag her back to him. She lost her footing and slammed into the chain-link fence next to them. Rebounding off the flexible metal, she fell hard to the ground.

Claire did not move. When the quarterback turned her over onto her back, he saw that a large stick had been shoved through the base of her skull.

--

_This nightmare was familiar. It should have been by now, I'd been having it for eight years. Clammy purple hands around my throat, the life draining out of me... It was almost humdrum now. _

_But then the dream progressed to that strange point it had reached after I had come back to this universe. I careened out of my body and was slammed against the face of the world, the universe shattering and blurring around me, all twisting darkness and sharp black edges... Shards of crystalline reality spun past me as I was thrown deeper and deeper into the darkness inside myself. Death. Death and that seed of entropy that exists within each person. I was losing the battle, being pulled into the black abyss from which there was no waking up..._

_And suddenly, I was no longer alone, incorporial in the void. He was there with me, and with him... light. I recognized his face, but the name to go with it would not come to my broken mind. But I knew him. He could take me out of this._

_The sourceless light he had brought with him grew as he extended his hand toward me. Then there was a brief moment of panic; I had no hand to clasp in his. But then, as he stared at me, a ghostly form emerged, and I was able to reach out and take his hand. _

_We rose out of the blackness, moving out into the incandescence. But not fast enough. The horrifying, soulless black that had encased us swirled up around us to suck us back down, away from the light, from life. I clung tightly to his hand, desperate not to lose my grip on the one solid thing in this void. And yet our grasp was weakening, the power of the whirling vortex threatening to tear us apart..._

_I held his gaze, seeing all the terror and desperation there. Our hands slipped apart, and he was drawn away from me. And in that moment, the name that had eluded me before burst into my mind... _

"Peter!"

I sat straight up in bed, screaming out his name, the nightmare still vivid in my mind. Though sunlight streamed across the floor, the eerie soundless howl of the dream was playing again and again.

Tanya pushed open the door to my room. "Jesus Dianne, are you okay?" she asked. "You were screaming bloody murder just now!"

Her voice pulled me back to reality, but the fear was not gone. "Peter," I gasped. "He was _there_, in my nightmare. He was trying to help me, but we couldn't hold on... I have to find him. I have to make sure he's okay!"

"Dianne, chill," Tanya said in a tone she meant to be placating. "It was just a dream. Peter's just fine. Just try to relax."

"No," I mumbled. "No, I have to be sure. He was never there before, maybe he's still trapped there..." I ran out of the room, heading for the door of the apartment. Tanya snatched at my arm, but tiny as she was she couldn't hold me. I ripped the door open and fled into the hallway, making a beeline for the stairs to the next floor.

As I rounded the corner to head up the second half of the flight, I ran smack into Peter. Our foreheads collided with a jarring impact, and it took me a moment to clear away the stars.

"Oh my god," I said after a few seconds of shaking my head. "Are you... are you okay?"

He nodded. "Are _you_? That... that dream... I've never felt anything like that."

"Yeah, I'm fine. But I lost my grip, I was sure that you would--"

"--Still be trapped," he finished for me. We stood there, smiling slightly in relief, just making sure the other was here and not still trapped in that ether-darkness.

I'm not sure when it was that I realized I was wearing nothing but a long T-shirt and that Peter was completely naked except for his boxers, but I do know that we realized it at the exact same time.

"Um..." I said. "I guess I should go get dressed." Peter had blushed bright red, and if my face were capable of flushing I was sure I would have too. He nodded, politely averting his eyes. I was not so courteous, but as we parted ways rather hurriedly it didn't really matter.

"We'll talk about this later," he said as he ascended the stairs.

I nodded. "Yeah. It's Sunday, so I don't have to go into the office today."

--

A little while later, I was sitting on the roof, full clothed and watching as the sun cleared the skyline. I heard the stairwell door creak open and said, without turning around, "Hi, Peter."

"Hi," he said awkwardly. There was a brief silence as he crossed the roof to where I was leaning against the retaining wall. The quiet stretched a little longer as he watched me. Finally, he said, "Look, you've got to explain this to me. I don't have a clue what just happened."

I turned to look him full in the face. "Um... I guess maybe you got... sucked into my nightmare somehow? I'm not really sure. Maybe it's another random power you picked up without realizing it or something."

Peter's eyes widened suddenly as if he was remembering something. "You know, there was something once before. It was right before Nathan had his car accident- the one that paralyzed his wife, Heidi, I mean. I was asleep, and I... I _saw_ the accident happen. I knew things about the circumstances that Nathan hadn't told anyone. That was six months ago now."

I looked away. "Well that explains how you wound up literally in my dreams. That's never happened before." If I knew Peter, he was going to try and talk about what exactly he had seen while he was in my head. And these nightmares weren't something I wanted to discuss. Ever. Not with Chloe. Not even with Kara, and she'd _been_ there when the event that caused them had happened. But Peter was a pretty heart-to-heart guy, and if I knew him...

Which, apparently, I did, because at that moment, he said slowly, "Dianne, that... nightmare... I've never had a dream like that, and as far as I know, no one else I know has either. It was... horrifying. I don't even know how to describe it. Why were you--?"

"Why was I dreaming about something so awful?" I snapped. "Is that what you want to know? Look, I wasn't always as good at what I do as I am now. When I was a teenager, I made mistakes. _Big_ mistakes. And it cost me." I turned firmly away from him, letting him know very clearly that this was _not_ something I wanted to talk about.

But Peter was either very imperceptive or very determined. I knew him too well to suppose it was the former, and so I had to respond when he said, very quietly, "Dianne. Talk to me."

I turned back to him, but did not meet his eyes. "Have you ever heard of the Parasite?" He nodded. "He's a villain who drains the superpowers and then the life energy of anybody he touches. Lex Luthor created him by accident. I'd been trying to get Clark to accept his destiny; I'd gotten too overconfident because I thought I knew how the story ended. But I didn't, and Lex sicced the Parasite on me to stop what I was doing. When he caught up to me, I was at the Talon with Lois Lane. He smashed the entire front wall of the apartment in. Lois was hurt, and I had to buy her time to get away. So I fought him. I still had super-strength then, and he took it from me, then knocked me unsconscious."

The memory was very clear before my eyes. "The next thing I knew, I was in a Luthorcorp holding cell, along with Lois, and Miss Martian. Kara and Clark showed up to save us, but they were too preoccupied with dealing with Brainiac, who was apparently behind the whole thing. They weren't free to deal with the Parasite. He throttled me, and he was stealing all my life, all the strength I had..." I shuddered with the ghost feeling. "I was in a coma for two weeks. Apparently I almost died. Lois, Kara, M'gann and Clark _all_ almost died because I was _so sure_ I had all the answers, so confident that I could do whatever I wanted in that world and everything would still stay the story I knew the ending to. But my actions had a ripple effect. I pissed off a Luthor and the world almost lost it's saviour because of it."

I knew that the bitterness was still strong in my voice, but I didn't care. Even though it had been years, I couldn't forgive myself for this greatest failure.

"And ever since then, I have these dreams. About... well, it always starts with what the Parasite did to me, but lately it's become... more. Like the universe is breaking all around me and I'm just a lost mind flickering out."

Yes, I'd nearly cost that world it's saviour... but suddenly, I realized that I had a chance to redeem myself. To _not _screw up someone's destiny. Because now I was here. With Peter. Who, as I'd observed last night, could potentially be the most powerful human being on the planet. As selfish as the thought was, it seemed that maybe I could give _this_ stumbling world the hero it needed.

But then I raised my eyes to meet Peter's, and realized why Chloe had never really been able to push Clark into the hero's path. It was because she respected him too highly, and thought too much of him to try and mold his life into what she thought it should be. And neither would I. If Peter chose that path, I would be right there by his side to kick some serious criminal butt. But I wouldn't force his hand.

There was silence as I watched Peter, and he me. Then, he said, "Wow. That's--"

"That's something I've never really told anybody," I said, cutting him off.

He nodded, understanding in his eyes. "I never knew. What had really happened to you there. It wasn't all fun and games, was it."

I shook my head, laughing. "No, definitely not. A lot of the times it was great. I mean, I spent six yaers living in the _Batcave_, and who wouldn't love that? But there was a lot of darkness to it, as well. I guess the worst part of the whole thing is that... I can't hate Raymond Jenkins. It may have been the Parasite who did this to me, but Raymond was still in there. He was still a good guy, but he couldn't control his need to... feed. He didn't want to hurt me, but he wasn't in complete control, he was just _hungry_. I can't really begrudge him that. Do you have any idea what I'm talking about?"

Peter chewed on his lip for a moment before saying slowly, "I think I do."

We sat in silence after that. It wasn't uncomfortable, the way it had been when he had first joined me on the roof. There was just nothing more to say for now.

--

**Another Note From Lara: As you can see, I'm making a definite Sylar-Parasite comparison here. This will become _very_ important, probably in twenty or thirty chapters (yeah, this is gonna be a long one).**

**Next Time...**

**Nathan gets mad**

**Claire gets even**

**Peter gets confused.**


	20. Message From a Future Hero

**A Note From Lara: Alrighty then. This starts a little after the scene between Peter and Dianne on the roof. The scenes with Claire are now more or less caught up with the timeline I'm writing for the NYC crew, so it'll take place late at night on this same day.**

--

Peter opened his apartment door to see his brother standing there, looking dour. "Hey Nate," he said. "You want some coffee? I just made--"

"Don't play the idiot, Peter," Nathan said sharply. "Is this some kind of payback? Yeah, I know it was a dick move, telling people you're suicidal. But there was a good reason for it, and I _don't_ appreciate what you did too much either."

Peter shook his head. "I have _no idea_ what you're talking about Nathan. Care to enlighten me?"

Nathan glared at him, but answered tersely, "Some professor showed up outside my office today, raving about 'unusual abilities.' Genetics specialist, he said. Suresh was his name, apparently. Sounding familiar? Possibly the guy you paid to create a scene and a mess for me to clean up?"

Starting at the name, Peter exclaimed, "Suresh?! The man who wrote that book... I had only just skimmed through it last night, but Chandra Suresh was a genetics professor at the University of Madras; he wrote a book about how evolution is continuing today. People developing powers... this guy could have all the answers. Did you talk to him? Find out where he's--"

"No," Nathan interrupted. "I don't have time to go chasing crazy professors dangling fairy tales over my head. I've got a campaign to run. Don't pull stunts like this any more Peter. Here, take some money. You want answers, go find 'em, but don't mess stuff up like this again. I need you to disappear for a little while."

Nathan left without saying goodbye. He was in a foul mood, Peter could see, and it would do no good talking to him until he had gotten over whatever wrong he perceived himself to be on the receiving end of. But without even meaning to, Nathan had handed him what just might be the key to all of his confusion. Now he knew that the man who had written Tanya's book was in the city, right now. Today.

Hurrying back into the apartment, Peter picked up the phone and dialed information...

--

Claire sat in the amphitheater outside of the Odessa High sports complex. She was once again in her cheerleading uniform, and her bare thighs rubbed against the concrete block beneath her. It was dark, and football practice was just now getting over with.

She hopped up as she saw Brody emerge from the locker room. "What are you still doing here?" he asked in surprise. She saw it again, that look of shock in his eyes when he saw her. Last night, he had left her for dead, dumped her body in the river. And yet here she was, alive and well. Claire knew the quarterback must be terribly confused, but she had simply told him she had drunk herself into amnesia. He also claimed to have no memory of the night before, also citing too much alcohol as the reason.

"Jacky promised to give me a ride home," Claire said, smiling dangerously. "But I guess she forgot. Could you give me a ride?"

Brody nodded, that predatorial look she recalled seeing on his face creeping into his eyes once more. "Thanks," she said. "You drive a stick-shift right? Mind if I drive?" Brody agreed quickly, apparently trying to keep her happy after what had happened the night before.

--

Peter had a difficult time locating the professor. There were no Chandra Sureshes listed, although there was a Mohinder Suresh living in Brooklyn. The name sounded vaguely familiar to Peter, although he couldn't quite place it. But he figured it was worth a shot.

And so now he was standing here, knocking on a door in an apartment building even dingier (if that were possible) than his own. After a moment, an Indian man a few years older than Peter opened the door. "Yes?" he asked.

Peter started in surprise. "I _knew_ your name sounded familiar!" he exclaimed. "The day of the eclipse! I was in your cab!" Mohinder nodded, vaguely remembering the younger man and his strange conversation about evolution and being special.

"Yes yes," Mohinder said suspiciously. "Can I help you?" He wondered if this man was a ploy by the people who had murdered his father and bugged his apartment.

After a moment's hesitation, Peter held up a copy of Activating Evolution. "I'm looking for the guy that wrote this book. Chandra Suresh. Do you know him?"

Mohinder nodded slowly, still wondering what this strange person was after. "He was my father."

"He wrote... he wrote about people who'd evolved. People with... powers." Mohinder couldn't see where the man was going with this, and his suspicion was growing by the minute. The last person they'd sent after him had had a gun...

"I think... I think I might be one of them," Peter said.

That was _not_ what Mohinder had been expecting.

--

Claire accelerated, speeding ahead even faster than before. "Hey, you might wanna slow down!" Brody exclaimed. "That was a red light."

"Whoops," she said, her tone making it clear that she didn't care. After a moment, she continued, "You know, it's funny that neither of us remembers what happened last night."

She glanced at the boy next to her, accusation in her eyes. "Oh, I get it," Brody said. "You come onto _me_, and now you're gonna try to blame it all on me." He watched as she expertly maneuvered the shift. "You _know_ how to drive a stick shift, don't you?" There was something dangerous in her eyes.

For a moment, Claire's determination failed her. Almost, she slowed down. Almost, but not quite. Because she remembered waking up on the autopsy table, watching her sliced-open chest knit itself back together. She remembered Lauri Trammel coming up to her this morning and asking what had happened last night. She remembered Lauri telling her how she had been another of Brody's victims. Claire wasn't the first girl he had tried to do this to. And so she had to do this, for all the other girls.

At first, she had just wanted to forget about it. But Zack- Zack, her _best_ friend now- had urged her to tell someone. She had at first brushed it off as an accident (she still remembered his reply: "Which part was the accident? The rape or the murder?"), but at his urging, she conceded that she would talk to someone. Of course, she'd been lying; that wouldn't do any good, she knew. And when Lauri had told her what had happened to her, a very primal rage had awakened in Claire. She was going to do something about this.

"Yep," she repliled. "I talked to Lauri Trammel. She told me what you did to her. About the others. It's never gonna stop, is it?"

"Lauri Trammel is a _slut_!" Brody said, poison in his words.

Claire wanted to slap him. "Is that what you're gonna say about me?" she asked.

Brody grinned. "That's what I _already_ say about you, Claire. Look, just let it go. There's nothing you can do about it." And in that moment, Claire realized that what she had planned just wasn't horrible enough for Brody. The smug, entitled look on his face infuriated her to the point that she could hardly see through her rage.

She narrowed her eyes, staring straight into his eyes, wanting to watch his expression. "I can do _this_," she said in a deadly voice. And she steered the car off the road and into the brick wall of a building.

--

Mohinder sat down at the table, in front of Peter Petrelli. Yes, _Petrelli_. The baby brother of the politician he had attempted to warn this morning. What were the odds? But he was very skeptical. Despite Eden's pointed suggestion before she left to take this guy seriously, he still had the feeling that Peter was, in her words, a "crap-ass rat." So far, the man had offered no proof to support his claim.

"I can't really... do anything," Peter said, when Mohinder pointed this out. "Well, I can, but only sometimes. I flew once or twice, but it's hard to do when I'm not around Nathan. And I drew the future once. I was able to kinda make a little force field, but it was... well, it was pretty crappy."

Mohinder raised his eyebrows as Peter continued. "We could go see Nathan... No, but he's on his way to Vegas. I guess we could visit Isaac, but he's... well, he's a heroine addict, and I don't know that he likes me very much, so..." He trailed away.

There was a brief silence, after which Peter stood up and turned away. "Whatever. You don't believe me. I get it. I guess I sound a little crazy."

"You sound like you should be talking to my father," Mohinder said quietly.

Peter turned around, a hint of excitement showing in his face. "Can I get in touch with him? Where is he?"

"He's on the table," Mohinder said bluntly, gesturing to the jar of his father's ashes.

In a moment, Peter's face had changed. "I'm sorry," he said. "It's terrible, losing a parent. But... you believe all this, don't you? I mean, you'd have to..."

Mohinder shook his head. "I don't know what I believe," he said. "Since my father was murdered, I've devoted every second of my time to proving that he wasn't crazy. But I'm beginning to think it's a wasted effort. Look, Peter. I'm going back to Madras. You should try to get on with your life as well."

Peter realized that it was a dismissal, and left. He exited the apartment building and made his way down the street to the subway. He boarded the train with a heavy heart. His last best hope for answers seemed to have been snatched away...

--

Simone smiled at Isaac. How could she have been on the verge of finally leaving him? No, that had just been temporary insanity. And after last night...

"I have to go," she said. "They need me at the gallery. I'll just take some of the new paintings to add to the collection."

Isaac shook his head firmly. "I need the new pieces."

"Because they tell you what's gonna happen in the future?" Simone said skeptically. She might have decided to support Isaac, but she didn't believe any of this mumbo-jumbo, painting-the-future crap.

Her boyfriend gave her an ironic smile. "How much for the old paintings?"

Simone sighed. "I hate to tell you this, Isaac, but I don't know if I could sell the old paintings."

"So you only like the ones I made when I was high. Interesting. Look, I _know_ this is real. See?" Isaac held up his sketchbook and gestured at a few other paintings around the room. "I painted Peter Petrelli before I'd ever met the guy! Here, and here."

A sad, put-upon look came into Simone's eyes. "Plenty of people have dark hair and eyes. Is it so unusual for some random person in your paintings to bear some resemblance to Peter?"

Isaac ran his hands through his long hair. "You don't believe me. Here you are, not sure if I'm sane or not, and this whole city's gonna go _boom_."

After a moment, Simone turned away from him. Her unusual green eyes stared around the apartment. "And you really think you can save us all by shooting up? Please Isaac, stop this." She met his eyes once more. "Please." But he was chuckling, staring at the floor and the image of the bomb he had painted.

"I can save everybody. I'm gonna be a hero," he said, as though she were no longer there.

--

Peter leaned against the back wall of the subway car, disappointment dragging him down into a black mood. He glanced around the car, watching the other people going about their lives. They had no idea, he thought idly. They had no idea what was happening to him, and Tanya, and Spens, and Isaac, and the others. There _had_ to be others, didn't there? After all, the late Chandra Suresh had written an entire book on the subject. If it was just one or two people, in just one city on the planet, surely there wouldn't have been that much to say...

Suddenly, Peter saw that the bottle of Coke the man across from him had just dropped was falling more and more slowly as it neared the ground. And all at once, the bottle froze in midair. All the lights seemed to freeze, with no time through which the light could travel, and an eerie blue cast fell over the scene.

Peter stared around the subway car. Everyone around him was frozen in mid-moment, and he was the only one moving. The only one who had stepped out of time. Had he done this by accident, or--? Panicked, he whipped around, banging on the back door of the car. "Hello?" he yelled. "Can anyone hear me?"

There. Footsteps behind him. Peter turned around, not sure what to expect. But he knew that what he saw was not even close to what he would have guessed. A short Asian man, dressed in a black trenchcoat with a katana strapped to his back approached him. A small goatee adorned the man's chin, and his small dark eyes bored into Peter's out of his round face.

"Peter Petrelli?" the man asked, with only a slight trace of an accent.

"How are you doing this?" Peter asked, his panic fading slightly with the air of confidence the man exuded. But it was not only confidence that infused his aura of power; there was sadness too. A deep sense of loss and sobriety that ate away at Peter.

A smile that wasn't quite there twitched at the man's face. "You look different without your scar."

That was the last thing Peter had expected to hear. "I don't you know you, buddy," he said shakily.

The other man shook his head, the moment of levity gone from his eyes as quickly as it came. "Not yet. My name is Hiro Nakamura. I'm from the future, and I have a message for you. I don't have much time- I'm risking creating a time rift just by coming here. But it's the only way to save them. So listen carefully. The girl-- you have to save her."

"What girl?" Peter asked.

"The cheerleader. It's the only way to prevent it."

Peter was sure that the confusion he felt must be clear on his face. "What do you mean? Prevent what?"

The sadness Peter sensed in this dark Hiro surged. "Everything. Listen to me. She must live. The painter, Isaac... go to him. He will know. When I call you, you _must_ tell me where we meet. You told me many times how lost you felt, before it all started. _This_ is what you've been waiting for. Be the one we need."

Before Peter could get in another word, Hiro turned and walked away. "Save the cheerleader, save the world!" he called back to the younger man. And then he vanished. Time restarted. And Peter was thoroughly confused.

--

**Another Note From Lara: Yeah, I know, no Dianne in this one. I suppose all the Dianne fans out there will be pissed at me. But there'll be plenty of her next chapter, I promise.**

**Next Time:**

**What the Hiro and Ando of the present time have been up to**

**Ditto Niki**

**Peter tells Dianne about the events of the morning**


	21. Nathan Has an Adventure

**A Note From Lara: I haven't much to say by way of an author's note, but I will say this: LAST WEEK'S EPISODE WAS AMAZING! Definitely one of the biggest Petrellicest episodes in a long time, as my friend Aly pointed out. I'm hoping for some big-time Paire in this Monday's episode.**

**Okay, so I might want to point out that the events with Hiro and Ando in this chapter take place slightly ahead in time of the others. Just by ten hours or so, but enough that it would be confusing if you weren't really clear on the timeline and I didn't mention this....**

--

Hiro shook his head. This was the worst day of his life, and it was almost certainly Ando's fault.

They were outside Las Vegas. It had taken a great deal of time upon his return to the present to convince Ando of his powers. But once his best friend _had_ understood that Hiro was not drunk or crazy, he had agreed to take some "vacation" time off of work to come with him to the United States to stop the bomb Hiro had seen. Guided by the _9__th__ Wonders_ comic book Hiro still kept clenched in his hand, they rented a blue Nissan Versa and drove to Las Vegas.

Then Ando had managed to gamble away all their money, and Hiro had been forced to use his powers to get it back. It saddened him- here he finally had something that made him less of a failure, and he was using it to cheat.

But Ando was always so convincing when it came to things like this. And eventually, it came back to haunt them, when they were thrown out of the casino by a group of thugs. But it hadn't stopped there. One of the men Hiro had cheated came and knocked the two of them out last night. They had awakened this morning to being rudely tossed out of a van in the desert.

And now Hiro was sitting alone in a diner in practically the middle of nowhere. Ando had ditched him to go see his stripper friend in Vegas. LasVegasNiki, as she was known on her website. Hiro shrugged to himself, fiddling with the salt shaker. "I'll probably save the world faster without you!" he called as Ando walked away past the window of the diner. The taller man ignored him. Hiro sighed sadly. Despite his bold words, he knew he would miss his friend. Oh well, at least he was going to get _waffles!_

A few minutes later, Hiro was gazing out the window when he saw... a flying man! The man touched down outside, skidding on the hot gravel and swearing under his breath. Hiro's eyes opened wide in amazement and a small smile crossed his lips.

The man was wearing nothing but sweatpants, and a look of self-effacing irony crossed his face. He held up his hands. "All right, I get it. A guy in his pajamas. Ha ha, very funny. Now, we could all have a good laugh, or one of you could lend me your cell phone."

He crossed to the counter, sat down, and ordered a cup of coffee and a T-shirt. When the waitress walked away, trying not to laugh, Hiro hurried over to the man. " Hiro Nakamura," he introduced herself.

The man shook his hand. "Oh. Nathan Petrelli."

"Petrelli. Nathan. Very nice to meet you," Hiro said. "Flying man. I see you fly. Whoosh!" He made a swooping gesture.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Nathan said.

"No, I _saw_ you," Hiro insisted. "You fly. I bend time and space. Teleport into the future! We are both special. But don't worry, I keep secret. I go to New York, in future. There big bom there. Very bad for many people. Boom!"

Nathan shushed him. "Yeah, I can see how that might be a problem," he said in a hushed voice.

Hiro smiled. "Don't worry. I stop it. Am hero."

"Lucky us." A long black car pulled up outside, honking its horn. "Oh, I better go," Nathan said. Then he paused. "Hey, in this future you see, you don't happen to know if I win the election, do you?"

Hiro paused, thinking. "Um... Petrelli... Nathan... Oh, yah yah yah! Nathan Petrelli! Now I remember! You win big. Very big! Landslide!" As Nathan turned to go, Hiro called to him, "Give me ride-o?" The other man looked confused. "Ride-o?" He motioned as if driving.

"Ah, sure, what the hell. Come on."

--

"Why can't you work at home like usual?" Micah asked his mother.

Niki smiled sadly at her son. "Well, this job... it's-- it's a little different." Damn right it was different. Linderman's men had caught up with them on the way back from Micah's grandmother's house. They had drug them down to downtown Vegas, to one of Linderman's casinos. Ms. Sakamoto, one of Linderman's associates, had explained just how Niki was going to pay off her debts.

Apparently, some wannabe Senator from New York was coming in to ask Linderman for a campaign "contribution," and the mobster wanted a little "insurance" on his investment. "I'm not a whore," Niki had exclaimed loudly. But Sakamoto had only smiled.

"You've been different," Micah insisted. Niki nodded sadly. "I know, and you have been a trooper. I'm just gonna do this one little job, and things are gonna get back to normal."

The young boy nodded his dark head. "Alright. But it's safer over the internet. I mean... what you do in the garage? It's just acting. None of that's for real." He ran out of the room and answered the doorbell. "They sent a limo!" he yelled.

--

She bumped into her intended target, one Nathan Petrelli. "Oh, I'm sorry!" she exclaimed through carefully applied lip gloss. Then, feigning disappointment, she pulled a ticket out of her glass of champaigne. "Oh. So much for Celine Dion."

"Just the one ticket?" the handsome politician asked her, smiling.

"Yeah. I'm on a business trip... and I don't really like the people I work with, so..."

"So you're traveling alone." Nathan grinned at her, and she couldn't help but smile back. She couldn't help but think 'if only.' If only this wasn't just a con job. If only she could have met Nathan Petrelli purely by accident as it appeared. She almost felt safe with him, for the first time since DL left...

--

Hours later, they were in Nathan's hotel room. "Oh my god, look at this _view_," she sighed. "Everything looks so much prettier when you're high up."

"Yes it does," Nathan said, looking at her rather than the window. "Do you ever wonder what it would be like to just... soar over that desert?"

Niki smiled. "I took a helicopter ride over Red Rocks once."

Nathan shook his head. "No, I'm not talking about in a helicopter. I was thinking more like... flying." There was a brief and slightly awkward silence, after which Nathan said, "You know, if I were your husband, I don't think I'd let you travel alone."

"I don't have a husband. He left."

"For another woman?" Niki shook her head, half-smiling. "Man?" Niki laughed out loud, saying, "No, I'd take that one too. He's kind of a criminal. And by kind of, I mean he is."

"Any kids?" Nathan asked.

Niki smiled. "One. A boy genius." "Boy. I've got two boys. Not geniuses, just boys. It's weird having children. It's like you've gotta be two people."

"Exactly. There's the person they see, and the one you really are." Nathan smiled at her.

--

She left. She couldn't go through with it, couldn't manipulate Nathan like that, couldn't let him get sucked into Linderman's death trap like that. But as she waited for the elevator in the hallway, something happened as she watched the reflective doors. There were _two_ of her in the mirror... and one of the reflections wasn't moving with her.

The doors slid open to reveal one of Linderman's thugs. He grabbed her, threatened her, her son, and told her to go back and fulfill her promise to Linderman. "Sorry," the blonde said. "Niki's not here right now."

The man flew across the hallway, and the blonde stepped out into the hallway again. A tattoo of a strange twisting symbol was on her shoulder that hadn't been there before. She strode back to the politician's room, threw open the door, and pulled him into a passionate kiss.

--

Early morning sunlight streamed through the windows of the hotel room as two people slipped inside. "Just take the one," said a man with horn-rimmed glasses. "We leave the blonde for now." His partner, a Haitian man, stretched toward the pair entwined on the bed.

--

Nathan Petrelli had only just barely escaped his captors by launching himself into the air. And he wouldn't even have had the opportunity to do that if the Horn-Rimmed Glasses Man's phone hadn't rung at an opportune moment, distracting him.

--

I emerged onto the roof of the building. "What is it Peter? What was so urgent that it couldn't wait ten minutes for me to make that call about trying to find a new job when your brother fires me?"

Peter was sitting on the retaining wall, looking out across the city. I was beginning to sense a pattern here. It was like Clark's loft in Smallville. This was where _stuff_ happened; if it was important or intense, it was going to go down up here.

"I met a man from the future today," Peter said bluntly, turning to face me. "He told me "save the cheerleader, save the world"."

For a moment, I thought he was joking. Then I realized that there was no way he was going to joke about something like that. "Save the cheerleader, save the world?" I asked. "What the hell does that mean?"

He shrugged. "He also told me to go see Isaac. Said he'd know what was going on."

Biting my lip, I took a moment to reply. "Well, that's one trip you're going to have to make on your own. Me and Isaac in the same room together is like matches and gasoline. I was lucky to avoid slashing his throat open the last time I talked to him, and that was only for about two minutes."

Peter blinked at me in surprise, but I spoke over his confusion. "So what-- what happened?"

So he told me. The story unfolded smoothly. I had to give it to Peter, he was an excellent story teller. I was good at awkward explanations, but narratives... not so much.

I cocked my head, looking at him when he finished. "So what do you think it means?" he said, as I sat down beside him.

"I don't know. I honestly don't know. But he was trying to warn us about _something_ bad," I said. "Maybe that's what Isaac can help us with."

Peter paused. "Hang on. Just a couple of days ago, Isaac painted a nuclear explosion destroying New York City. Could that have anything to do with it?"

"You tell me. I don't know many disasters worse than a nuclear bomb. Althought," I mused, "I always considered it to be one of the coolest ways to die. Literally dying of the light, starshot. It wouldn't really hurt, it'd be too fast for you to feel it. But it would be the power of the sun that killed you. Going out in a blaze of glory in the biggest way possible..." I broke off my morbid train of thought. "Sorry. Sometimes my mouth and my subconscious are rerouted together away from my brain."

He laughed. "Yeah, I had noticed."

There was silence for several moments, and then Peter said, "It looks like we might have to save the world."

"Yeah."

"What's it like?" he asked. "Being... being a hero? Actually being there when the world gets saved, having a part in it?"

I shrugged. "I was never the hero type. I'm a sidekick, and a vigilante. Sometimes I'd work with the JLA, but I was mostly the backup girl. A couple of times I was on the front lines, but when it came time to do the really big things, the things that mattered, they didn't want me, I wasn't strong enough. They'd call out Kara, or Diana, or one of the others." The words sounded bitter to me; I didn't like that they'd come from my mouth, so I continued, to try and repair the damage. "I didn't actually mind that much. Without powers, the people leading the charge tended to die. But... that wasn't really what you asked. Saving the world is... confusing. There's a huge rush when it's happening. Adrenaline, and heat, and you feel like nothing can hurt you until something does. But once it's over, everybody's just kind of standing there in the wreckage, staring at each other awkwardly."

"All the glory's in the action, not the afterwards, huh?" Peter surmised, smiling.

I laughed. "Yeah, something like that."

A glint of light off the windshield of a car momentarily blinded me. "So then, the geneticist wouldn't give you the time of day?" He nodded. "What a jerk. I guess we'll have to figure out what the hell this is _without_ his stupid DNA tests and whatever else."

Peter nodded, and I asked, "So are you going to go see Isaac?"

He shrugged. "I guess I'll have to. It would be pretty stupid of me to ignore Hiro's warning." I chuckled to myself. "What?" he demanded.

"Nothing. Just an ironic name."

"Yeah. Okay." He left the roof, the intensity I had seen in him earlier lifting. I shook my head. Peter was so strange sometimes. He alternately bottled everything up and vented insanely. I couldn't really make any sense of it; it was like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, and then he would have a conversation with me or Nathan or whoever and suddenly he was just plain old Peter Petrelli again. Of course, from the looks of things, ordinary wasn't going to be the adjective of choice for him ever again.

I shrugged to myself and went back downstairs to try and find a job.

--

**Another Note From Lara: We're closing on Homecoming! Just a few more episodes to cover and then we get to some of the more AU stuff. So please review? Pretty please? I get inspired when I get reviews. Even just really short ones.**

**Next time:**

**Peter and Isaac paint the future**

**Dianne tries to find a job**

**Matt meets a new hero (who happens to be one of my favorites!) with an -*ahem*- _explosive_ personality. -*hint hint hint you all know who I mean!!!!!!!!*-**


	22. Nuclear Man

**A Note From Lara: Okay, so I've got this killer headache, so this chapter probably sucks. But I figured a slightly substandard update was probably better than making you wait for another week or so while I procrastinated. So, here we go, yeah? **

**Ooh, hey, I'm listening to the song 'Shrink the World', yet another song by Yellowcard that _really_ has a Heroes twist to it. Specifically, a direct Heroes reference. Part of the lyrics are, "You saved the girl, you saved the world." Great song, Heroes song, go listen to it. But not right now, read and _REVIEW_ first.**

--

Peter knocked on the door of Isaac's loft, rapping loudly and insistently. There was no answer. He forced his way into the apartment. "Isaac?" he called.

"What do you want?" the painter grunted. He sat in a corner on the floor, a red blanket wrapped tightly around him. For a man who spent his life working with color, his face had remarkably little.

"I need your help," Peter said.

Isaac shrugged, looking disconsolate.. "Look at me, I can barely help myself. Simone's the only thing keeping me going, you know that? How the hell am I supposed to help anybody else?"

Peter stared at the painter. "You painted me. You drew me... flying. Look, it happened, okay? I flew."

The other man struggled to his feet. "Congratulations," he said coldly.

"I'm saying I believe you. You can paint the future. Look, whatever's happening to you is happening to me too. And I don't know why, but I'm supposed to see you. You're supposed to have the answer."

Isaac chuckled darkly. "Is that what I sound like? No wonder Simone thinks the drugs have messed with my head." He turned away, digging through a pile of paintings beside the stairs. "I don't have any answers."

"You're supposed to know where I have to go!"

Isaac gestured to a stack of canvases across the loft. "See for yourself," he said. Peter picked up the paintings, laying them out on the floor. A close image of a girl- a _cheerleader_- with a look of terror on her face. Then, the same girl sprawled across the steps of an amphitheater. A black-haired man- surely Peter himself- dodging what appeared to be flying locker doors. Two Japanese men standing under a blood-stained banner that read 'Homecoming.'

He pointed at the first painting. "It's her," he said softly. "It's the cheerleader." Peter spread the paintings out, fitting them together... "They connect," he said. "Like panels of a comic book. But... what happens next? There's the girl, and then there's... I think that's me. And these two guys... I think we're all trying to help her. But why? What happens?" He rounded on Isaac as his monologue reached fever pitch.

Isaac responded in an equally intense tone. "I was high. How should I know? I tore myself apart, destroyed my life, messed up my relationship with Simone... all to find an answer. A way to stop it. What did I get? Nothing. Some cheerleader." He scoffed in disgust and turned away. "It's nothing. I've ruined my life for _nothing_."

Peter shook his head, suddenly spying one final painting, shadowed and incomplete, in the back corner. "It's _not_ nothing. Look, don't you get it? Everything is connected. We are all connected. If this thing that you painted, this bomb, is true, we're all dead. These are the key to saving us. Something's gonna happen to this girl. We need to know what. You have to finish this. You have to finish the painting." He gestured wildly at the final painting.

Isaac surveyed the image- a shadowy figure in a long coat standing over a space of blank, unfilled canvas. "Even if I wanted to, man, I can't. I'm out of drugs. Out of money to _buy_ drugs. You got some cash on you, that's a different story, but..."

Peter held up a hand to silence him. "Wait. I... saw something. In the canvas. An image..." He trailed away, then ripped off his good shirt so he wouldn't get paint on it. "I can finish it."

"You can _paint_?" Isaac asked incredulously.

"Not a bit. But I can do what you can do." Isaac looked confused, so Peter enumerated. "_You_ can paint the future, so_ I_ can. At least, while I'm around you. That's just how it works for me." Isaac shrugged and turned away as Peter seized his damp pallet of colors. The next second, Peter's eyes had whited out eerily, and he attacked the canvas, daubing colors on with a wild frenzy...

--

"Gah!" I screamed, hurling my cell phone at the wall. The false sweetness of my final words to the manager of some McDonalds in Queens lingered in my mouth, and I had a strange urge to drink an entire bottle of Listerine.

Tanya leaned against the door frame, her strawberry hair hanging in her eyes. "Did the cell phone do something to offend you?" she asked.

Taking an ineffective calming breath, I said, "Not so much the phone. More the person on the other end. I can't get a job _anywhere_! Seriously. I started calling fast food places as a last resort, but even they won't take me! And I swore when I was like twelve that I would never work in a fast food restaurant if my life depended on it!"

She shrugged. "Well, with the economy, y'know..."

I nodded, still seething. "Would it really offend you if I put my fist through the wall?" I asked through clenched teeth.

"Yeah. Yeah, it really would. And that would also probably hurt."

"It would still make me feel better," I muttered.

Tanya sat down beside me on my bed, suddenly looking pensive. "So... are we gonna talk about it?"

"About what?"

"About... _this_," Tanya said emphatically, allowing a purple barrier to form around her fingers. "It's... so completely insane. I can throw these... force field things. Peter... I don't know _what_ the hell Peter does. Spens makes goddamn _earthquakes_! I mean, seriously, what the hell? It makes no sense, and I'm scared."

It was an admission I'd never have been able to make. She at least had the courage to admit that she wasn't unbreakable, and I respected her for that. I shrugged, unsure what to say.

"What do I do now?" she asked despairingly. "I mean, two days ago my life was nice and normal and there was no weird stuff going on. Now my neighbor's on some kind of quest to save the world from he doesn't even _know_ what and I'm a freak, or a mutant, or both. What do I do? _You _should know! You've been doing this most of your life!"

And that's when I realized what she wanted of me. What she saw me as. I'd run with the wolves, so I must know how to train a dog. I had experience with the fairy-tale world, and she wanted me to explain the real world to her. And it broke my heart that I didn't know how.

"I... I can't, I don't. I want to. Goddammit, I _have_ to, but I don't know how this world works, not really. If we were in Metropolis or Gotham right now, I could tell you exactly what to do. But the way life works here is... different. I don't really know how, it's just a feeling, but the world isn't the way I knew it. If you decide to go with spandex-" I chuckled at the bizarre mental picture of tiny little Tanya all dressed up in red and blue, "-I can give you pointers, but beyond that, I'm shooting in the dark every bit as much as you."

She nodded, flopping back across my bed. "Okay." That was all she said. But it made me feel like I'd let her down in the biggest way.

The way I always did. Clark. Kara. Lois. Even Bruce, on occasion. _Sam_. It was my curse- I tried my hardest, and always failed to do the one important thing that could make things come out right. And it looked like even in this universe it was going to haunt me.

--

Isaac stared at the painting Peter had just completed. The girl, the cheerleader he had dismissed as nothing suddenly seemed important. That little tickle at the back of his head that he felt right before the drugs snatched his soul on high was driving him nuts, and he _knew_ in that way he did, that she was vital to saving this sorry city.

"We have to save her," he said, gesturing at the broken body of the girl at the feet of the dark man. Peter nodded, and started to reply, when the phone rang. "Ignore it," Isaac said. "Some Japanese guy keeps calling me, leaving messages."

The moment he said _Japanese_, Peter's eyes lit up. "Japanese...? It's Hiro!" He leapt for the phone.

"Hello?"

"Mr. Isaac Mendez?"

"Who is this?" Peter asked.

"Uh.. this is Hiro Nakamura and his friend Ando."

"Hiro, this is Peter Petrelli, and I have a message for you."

--

Mr. Bennet was an unpredictable man. It was how he had survived in his line of business for so long, far longer than most. No one was really sure what Agent Bennet, _supposedly_ a manager of the Primatech Paper Company, was going to do next. But one thing he would always, _always_ do was whatever it took to protect his adopted daughter.

Claire had told him, when he arrived at the hospital, about what this quarterback had tried to do to her. And now it was time for revenge. He stepped into the boy's room, staring intently into the face of the _thing_ who had tried to force his daughter.

Claire had already done a good job of it- several of his bones were shattered and immobilized, and bloody cuts and scratches from the car wreck covered most of his body. His face was swollen and he could barely speak. Bennet listened patiently as the boy spewed threats about a lawsuit, and when his ire had run out, he spoke.

"You tried to rape my daughter. What you did was despicable. If I were less of a man, I would kill you right now. But I'm a firm believer in second chances, and so I'm going to give you one. You already destroyed the life you have... and so I'm going to give you a new one. Maybe, if you play your cards right, you'll make something of it."

As Brody tried to scream, Bennet's hand was suddenly over his mouth, muffling his noise. A tall Haitian man came silently into the room, an expressionless stare on his face. "Go deep," Bennet said. "Hollow him out." The Haitian drew the curtains around the bed and covered Brody's eyes with his cool hands...

Several hours later, an unscathed Claire Bennet entered the damaged quarterback's hospital room. Taking a deep breath, she said, "Look, I'm sorry about what I did to you. What you did to me was wrong, and horrible. But what I did was wrong too. I guess we both need a second chance, so let's just forgive and forget."

"Do I know you?" the boy asked through his breathing tube.

Claire's eyes widened. "Brody, it's _me_, Claire!"

"Why are you calling me 'Brody'?"

--

Matt Parkman rubbed his eyes. What a roller coaster the past few days had been. First that blackout at the bar with the Haitian man, and the FBI job... And then he had patched things up with his wife- using his special advantages, of course.

But as much as he liked the direction his life was taking now, this was decidedly disturbing. A corpse- probably yet another of Sylar's victims- burned nearly to ash. Only bones and 1800 curies of radiation was left, and no incendiaries to be found according to Audrey. But they had one fingerprint, seared to the bone somehow.

They had found a match, one Ted Sprague. They were trying to track him down now, on the assumption that he was probably Sylar. But Matt wasn't so sure. He and Audrey had found his house radioactive and nearly in ashes. And the dead man on their autopsy table had a traceable connection to Ted- he was his wife's doctor.

Now they were in the hospital, headed for the room where Ted's wife lay dying of cancer. Parkman pushed open the door, and found the man himself kneeling next to his wife's bed while a nurse put an injection into her IV bag.

Ted Sprague looked terrible, his hair shaggy and unkempt and a thick sprouting of stubble across his chin. His eyes were bloodshot, as though he had been crying, and he looked as though he was ready to begin again at any moment. As they entered, he rose to his feet, looking heartsick. "I didn't mean to kill him. Dr. Fresco said there was nothing he could do to save her. I tried to convince him, you know? There must be something else that he could do. Anything. And we argued. And I lost control."

"We can talk about this downtown," Audrey said harshly.

Parkman knew what he was going to do a second before Ted seized the nurse by the arm. His hands lit up, glowing eerily from within, and the woman cried out in pain. "Let her go!" Parkman yelled.

"If you let me stay with my wife!" Ted gestured with his free hand toward the unconscious woman on the bed.

"No," Audrey insisted. "You let her go or I shoot!" She brandished her pistol.

"Do you have any idea what would happen if you did that?" Ted half-shouted, hysteria plain in his voice. "Because I don't. Maybe I'll explode. Maybe I'll take out this whole hospital. Maybe I'll wipe out this city like an atomic bomb. Just leave me alone!"

And then Parkman heard Karen Sprague's voice, whispering softly in his head. _Stop Teddy, stop!_

He didn't know how he managed it, but he told him. He told Ted Sprague what his wife was thinking, and the nuclear man released the nurse. Tears ran down Ted's face as Parkman continued to relate the dying woman's monologue, spilling out memories of their first date. Telling him that Karen didn't blame him for the cancer, that it wasn't his fault.

And then Karen Sprague flatlined, and only three souls remained in the hospital room.

--

**I know, I know. I didn't do justice to the emotional scene between Ted and Karen and Parkman in the hospital room, but I just wasn't sure how to write it fairly without translating verbatim.**

**Mostly canon stuff this chapter, but there's some very interesting stuff coming up in a chapter or two. **

**Next time:**

**Mohinder's prettybird reports in, and Dianne finds out about it**

**Linderman and Angela talk again**

**Niki has an unexpected visitor**


	23. Rescued

**A Note From Lara: Okay, for all you Dianne fans who've been clamoring to see more of her, I have a message. For all you PetAnne shippers who are yelling at me to get a move on, I have a message. This is the message: THIS IS YOUR CHAPTER!!!!!!! I even made it a little bit long for you!**

**This does require explanation. The scenes between Dianne and Prettybird (that's what I always called Eden) take place at the same time that Peter's busy painting the future.**

--

"This is Peter Petrelli, and I have a message for you. Save the cheerleader, save the world."

"What cheerleader? Where?" Ando asked in accented English. Peter relayed the question to Isaac, who shrugged distantly.

Disgusted, Peter said, "But you painted them!" Isaac smiled ironically. "So did you." Peter had no reply to that.

"Tell him about the guy from the future."

"He _is_ the guy from the future," Peter said in exasperation, but agreed. "A Hiro Nakamura from the future, who spoke English and carried a sword stopped time on the train this morning and told me 'Save the cheerleader, save the world.' We might have a way to find the cheerleader, if... look, just get to New York and we'll figure it out, okay?"

Ando translated the information for Hiro, who immediately smiled into the distance. "I have a sword," he said. The call did not last long once Hiro's attention had been distracted, but the duo agreed to make all speed for the City.

"There's a painting missing," Peter said after the termination of the conversation. "See, it fits together like comic book panels, but one's missing."

"I painted a piece about that size a few weeks ago," Isaac said. "Simone has it. I gave it to her to sell. Ask _her_ for it. Tell her you need it to save the world, see what she says." He chuckled sarcastically at Peter's sour look. "Oh don't give me that," he grunted. "I know you're soft on her, no good pretending otherwise."

Peter ran his hands through his hair, remembering Dianne's comment upon first meeting Simone. "Is it _that_ obvious?"

--

Noah Bennet passed on the new assignment to his... persuasive... charge. It was a quick one, a simple assassination. In and out. Apparently there was some girl, Dianne something-or-other in Manhattan who was scaring the higher-ups with what she knew.

He didn't like assassinations, but he understood that sometimes they were necessary. There was something about this one, however, that didn't feel right. It was too sudden, there had been no previous mention of this girl before, and as far as he knew she didn't have a power. He wondered briefly if he was doing the right thing in giving his caged canary the address.

--

I was boiling over with inexplicable rage and had nowhere to put it. I'd felt like this before, experienced this blackout fury, but it always bothered me. I had no job- Nathan had finally gotten around to firing me for playing Tetris instead of working. I had no way to _get_ a job. I only had enough cash saved up to cover rent and meals for a month. And, most frustrating of all, aside from tantalizing internet-borne whispers of a killer called Sylar, I had no leads whatsoever on Sam's murder.

All of this was boiling in my blood, and I couldn't do anything about it. Before she left, Tanya had again refused to let me damage the apartment. Going out and beating sense into some petty criminals was always an option, but for some reason I just couldn't loose myself in it the way I usually did. I felt just like the restless teenager I once was, and it bothered me. I didn't like the person I was in my younger years. Although... did anyone?

Stalking out of the apartment, I prowled around the neighborhood for a few minutes before an idea occurred to me. This morning, Peter had gone to see that geneticist, Dr. Suresh. But the good doctor had not thought so much of Peter's claims. I knew that this guy could answer all Tanya's questions and put her mind at ease. But, more importantly, I knew Peter wasn't lying. I could provide the reliable testimony Suresh was looking for.

I smiled grimly to myself. Alright then. Over the river and through the slums to Professor's house we go.

--

When I rang the apartment, I received no answer and was forced to make the fire escape my back door into Suresh's apartment. I hoped I was on the right side of the building to be able to get into his apartment, or it was going to take some tricky maneuvering to get myself inside. It took my only seconds to reach the fourth floor, and as I scanned through the row of windows, I spied an Indian man and a petite brunette woman in the corner apartment.

Carefully, I pushed up the window- unlocked, careless- from the outside. It squeaked and I froze, worried that the two would turn and see me. But whatever they were talking about was obviously very important, because they didn't even acknowledge the sound.

As I caught a glimpse of the man in profile, my breath caught. My god, he was the most beautiful specimen of the opposite sex I had _ever_ seen. Definitely much more "man-pretty" than Clark could ever claim to be. I think I might have drooled just a little. But I pulled myself together in order to listen to their conversation.

"You're not gonna be gone long," said the woman.

"Is that so?" asked the man in a lightly accented voice. I'd never set much standard by it, but Chloe was _right_ when she said that accents were sexy!

The woman shook her head. "Nope. You can go back to India and sccatter your father's ashes. But you'll always wonder if there was something to your father's theory if you'd just looked a little harder."

"I don't think so."

"Well, I do. That's why I'm not even gonna say goodbye."

"Goodbye, Eden." "See you later, Mohinder." He leaned in to kiss her on the cheek, but she quickly turned her head to meet his lips directly. The geneticist pulled away, smiling awkwardly. "Like I said," the girl said. "See you later." Mohinder turned and hurried out of the apartment, suitcase in hand.

Eden remained in the apartment, and presently her cell phone rang. I listened on the one-sided conversation: "Hello?... Yes, he's gone... I'm doing the best I can... Oh, he'll be coming back. I made sure of that... no, not _that_ way. I said I wouldn't do it again and I _meant_ it... Sure, what's the job?... No, no that's not... But... That's _your_ kind of job, Bennet, not mine... No, I won't. I don't care _what_ the boss thinks, I won't cross that line again... _Fine_. But only because it's for a "noble cause". What's the address? Not far from here, then. Alright... Goodbye, Mr. Bennet." She flipped the phone shut, standing stock still in the center of the room.

I was similarly frozen. Something about the name Bennet... it set off bells from the dark recesses of my mind the way Linderman's name had. Where had I heard it before...?

I should have moved. After several frozen seconds, Eden turned, and her startled eyes met mine through the glass. Before she could move I had whirled and flung myself off the edge, but I knew she'd seen me.

Four stories isn't a dangerous drop if you know how to roll the landing, but _damn_ do the balls of your feet sting afterward! Swearing loudly, I sprinted down the road, jumping slightly with each step in lieu of limping.

As I fled back towards the Bridge, toward the Manhattan apartment, I ran through all the information that had suddenly fallen into my lap. Mohinder Suresh was going back to India, to have a funeral for his father. And he was being watched by a woman named Eden. Who was controlled by an enigma named Bennet.

Admittedly, it wasn't much to go on, but I had a name now. I'd just have to keep searching and use whatever I found to narrow in on these people- because I was a fool if I supposed this Bennet, whoever he was, was working alone. No, this had the reek of conspiracy all over it...

--

By the time I arrived, forty-something blocks later, in the dingy apartment building I called home, I was out of breath and clutching a stitch in my side. _God, I_ really _need to get back in shape!_ I hadn't been working out enough, and it showed.

But when I entered the apartment, I realized that I had an entirely different problem. Eden, the woman from Suresh's apartment, had somehow managed to get there ahead of me.

I was struck by her resemblance to Tanya- the same dark eyes and pixie face. That was my first thought. My second thought was... well, not really a thought. More of a state of mind: battle-ready. I tensed, but before I could do more, Eden opened her mouth.

"Stop," she said, and her sweet voice had a deep undertone that hadn't been there the last time I heard her speak. I panicked a little- Eden had a power!

"What do you want?" I asked. Just because she could make my body do whatever she wanted it to do didn't mean I couldn't pump her for information while doing it.

Eden smiled sadly, and I was again struck by her resemblance to Tanya. "I work for this... Company," she said slowly, walking a steady circle around my frozen body. Just like a cat stalking its prey. "My boss is worried about you... Dianne, is it?" I frowned, wishing whatever stricture she'd put me under would allow me to flip her the bird. "And I can see why. Ho'wd you know I was watching Mohinder?"

"Lucky guess," I growled. Looked like I wasn't the only one digging for information. "What's your name?"

Eden sighed. "Eden McCain. No, I guess you weren't expecting an answer. I wouldn't either. But I figure you deserve to know the name of the person responsible for your death. I'm sorry," she said. "I'm not a bad person. I've done some bad things in the past, but I'm trying, really trying to make up for it."

"By killing me?!"

"Something like that. The work my Company's doing could save the world. But something you did has the boss running around in a panic. So I'm under orders to stop you."

"And who's the boss? Bennet?"

Eden smiledher head. "No, I think you know enough. I _am_ sorry, Dianne." She closed her eyes, and when she spoke again, her voice took on that irresistible double resonance that drove away my free will. "I want you to go up on the roof. Wait three minutes, then jump. You will land on the pavement and you will die."

I saw the truth ov what she said. After all, I had left all my friends and the only place I ever felt like I had a home to come here. I had nothing here for me but minimum wage and a life without purpose... Mechanically, my heart beating wildly, I turned and headed for the stairs.

The darkness that Eden had seeded in my mind grew as I climbed. My heart ached and screamed at me to stop, but always I had trusted my head and my gut, and they whispered back, "jump."

I reached the roof. I walked to the edge- the side facing the alley. No need to disgust people with my corpse. And then I waited. One minute... two... And all the while, my apathy grew. What good was I, anyway? A dozen, perhaps two dozen foster parents had asked me that exact question, and had I ever had a good answer for them? No. Even when I was a little girl, I'd felt distant, separated from everyone else by an invisible barrier.

And here, 20 years later, I was still useless. I was two steps from sleeping in a shelter, and I couldn't pin down a job to save m life. I let everyone down and messed up all the really important things I was supposed to do.

Suddenly, as if a stopwatch in my heart had clicked off, I knew it was time to make the world a better place. I stepped off the roof...

... and realized it was a mistake. The moment I left the ledge, Eden's strictures fell away and the darkness lifted from my mind. But it was too late! A four-story fall, I might survive. But a 20-story one? No chance. I saw the ground rushing up to break me and closed my eyes. A scream ripped from my throat, and...

I hadn't hit the ground. Why? I realized that I was closely enfolded in someone's arms. I opened my tightly clenched eyes and found my face pressed into a distinctly nice-smelling chest. I glanced around and saw that we were rising quickly up the side of the building. which mean that my saviour had to be... I raised my eyes to his face.

"Peter!" I gasped as we touched downo n the roof. I extracted myself from his grasp. He looked rather stunned, and more than a little shaky. "Y-you saved me!" I whispered. He nodded, breathing hard. And before he could say anything, all the steel I had vanished, and I threw my arms around his neck and sobbed. He wrapped his own arms around me, and I pressed my face into his shoulder as all the pain and terror Eden had put me through poured out.

Several minutes of Peter stroking my hair later, I managed to bring myself under control. "What happened?" he asked gently. Still shaking, I recounted the whole story. I was wholely embarrassed by my crying jag, but I managed to articulate what had happened clearly. Now removed from my panic, I could almost have laughed at the expression of righteous fury that grew across his face with every sentence.

"Dammit," he muttered as I finished. "I was worried about saving some cheerleader when I should have been here saving _you_--"

I really did laugh, at that. "But you _did_ save me," I pointed out. "Speaking of which... how?"

Peter shrugged. "I don't know. Just don't ask me to do it again. I doubt I could, even if I wanted to." He jumped about for a moment, looking rather silly, before shaking his head. "Nope, I'm still earthbound."

"Well, at least you were able to do what you did when you did it," I said, "Or we'd have _both_ been splatted."

He shuddered. "Don't talk about you being splatted. I don't want to loose you. You're my best friend!"

I smiled, and in an uncharacteristic gesture of warmth, hugged him again. "And you are _my_ best friend, Peter Petrelli. Don't you forget it. Just... promise me something, okay?"

"What?"

"If I ever try to jump off a building again, punch me in the face after you save me, because I'm probably going to need it. I have cried more since I moved to New York than I did in the first twenty years of my whole life, and I'd rather not embarrass myself anymore."

Peter laughed incredulously, and I joined him. "You are... absolutely ridiculous," he said, "You know that? Ridiculous."

I smiled. "I'd better be, because otherwise I wouldn't be, well..."

"You wouldn't be you."

"Exactly. And now, I need to hijack Tanya's laptop," I said, silliness forgotten. Now that the initial shock and hysteria had worn off, I was _pissed_. I mean, she made me jump off a goddamn _building_!

Peter glanced sideways at me. "Should I even ask why?"

I raised my eyebrows, my self-titled "Bring It" face firmly in place. "I got a name to put with that bitch. She tried to kill me. So now, I'm gonna GPS her cell phone." My "Bring It" face was quickly replaced by what Peter had come to call my "Evil Maniac" face, and I dashed down the stairs to the apartment in search of a computer.

--

**Okay, a little bit of fluff, a little bit of sending Dianne on her path to investigating the Company.**

**I know I promised some Niki in this chapter, but what with all the save-the-vigilante-save-the-world stuff, I just didn't have room. I'll get to it next chapter, I promise!**


	24. I Hate Needing To Be Saved

**A Note From Lara: Sorry for the delayed update. I've been so consumed by my original V3 story that I've nearly had writer's block for Dianne. (Not really, of course, I was just in a little Paire dreamland and couldn't bring myself back to this for awhile.) Anyway, I'm not really happy with this chapter, but I'll let you make your own judgments. It just felt... off.**

--

Niki smiled tiredly at the police officer perched next to her on the countertop. The last twenty-four hours had been hell. She didn't remember _anything_ after seeing her reflection split in the elevator door. But apparently she had returned to Nathan's room and... well, fulfilled her mission.

And then, this morning, she had been awakened by the politician's private security demanding to know where he was. She had no idea, she had no memories at all. But he had arrived back at the hotel shortly thereafter.

She had apologized to him- what else could she do? Linderman's people had taped their acts the night before, and she had known and not bothered to warn him... Niki felt tears threatening as she remembered the stricken look on his handsome face as she whispered her goodbye.

Linderman was off her back, at least for the time being. But she still couldn't catch a break. The second she arrived home, she was confronted by Tina, Micah, and a horde of LAPD officers. Because of DL. DL was back in town.

God, this was so fucked up. It just felt like too much for one person to handle, and she was ready to scream. Suddenly, the cop sat straight up. "We've got somebody approaching the house," he said sharply.

The entire squad stood in the kitchen, weapons cocked and aimed at the back door. The screen swung open, to reveal...

A Japanese man stood in the doorway, and upon seeing the multitude of pistols turned on him, he raised his hands. "Niki?" Ando asked hesitantly.

--

I snapped open Tanya's laptop, my fingers flying over the keyboard as Peter watched over my shoulder. Within minutes, I had bypassed the firewall on the satellite system I had selected, and was hacking my way through the other safety measures. Very soon, I had located the GPS number on Eden McCain's phone, and entered the code into the program.

The computer hummed, and then a map of the city appeared on the screen. It zoomed down tightly on a single backstreet across the river in Brooklyn. Behind me, I heard Peter's breath catch. "Is that...?"

"Isaac Mendez's loft? Yeah, it is," I muttered. "We've got to go. I don't know what she's doing there, but Eden's dangerous." I stopped speaking, and grabed my coat from the rack. I might not get along so well with Isaac, but that bitch was trouble.

As we reached the pavement outside, Peter motioned for a taxi, but I shook my head. "Are you insane? It's five o'clock in the afternoon! With traffic the way it is, we'll never get there in time. We've got to run it." Inwardly, I sighed. I'd said I needed to work out; maybe this was Fate's way of having a good laugh at my expense. Peter just raised his eyebrows in a way that clearly said, "are you _insane_?"

But he followed me as I took off at a dead sprint down the street, so I didn't bother to return his look with sarcasm.

--

Eden closed her eyes. The three minutes were up by now, and she had killed again. She hated it, hated herself, but this was the only way. She was trying to protect the world.

She flipped open her cell phone and hit the first number on the speed dial. "It's me," she said when her call was answered. "It's done. The painter? I'm heading towards his loft right now.... Yes, Mr. Bennet, I understand perfectly. No, I'm alright. But this is the last time." She snapped the phone shut and continued her even tread on the sidewalk.

She could picture the information trickling up the management structure of Primatech. First she passed the information to her handler. Bennet told Bishop, the regional manager. And Bishop, in turn, told whoever was in charge. It was kind of sick, in a way, that all these people were _so_ interested in the death of one young woman...

--

Linderman smiled as he listened to Angela Petrelli's worried voice over the phone. "Daniel, I just don't think there's a _choice_ here. We have to make her one of us, or she's going to derail this whole thing!"

"Please, calm yourself," he said complacently. "Dianne Morten is not going to derail _anything_. We dispatched an agent just this morning to deal with her."

"Who?"

"That little songbird Bennet found- Eden something or other. The persuasive one."

Angela nodded. "Yes, I remember her. Quite a find, wasn't she? But that doesn't change the fact that I'm worried. I've seen her running circles around a few of our agents. In less than two weeks, she'll be in Los Angeles. That's a little too close to you for comfort. And a week after that, she'll be back in New York, completely throwing a wrench in everything we'd planned, if you don't stop her before she leaves LA."

Linderman pondered this for a moment. "Alright then. I'll have an agent stationed in downtown Los Angeles, to be sure things go our way." He paused. "Angela, are you quite sure you're alright with this? You wouldn't be trying to throw things off on purpose, would you?"

"I told you," the widow said firmly, "I am as dedicated to fixing what's wrong with the world as you are. And if Peter's death is the only way... so be it. I'm simply concerned that this girl could confound this plan."

Linderman lit a cigar, smiling, and hung up the phone.

--

I was breathing hard as I pounded up the steps to Isaac's loft, and my legs felt like jello. Peter wasn't in the best shape either, but I was pretty sure he had cheated. There is _no way_ anybody can take strides that long without hovering a little bit in between.

When I burst into the apartment, Isaac was unconscious on the floor and Eden was leaning over him with a needle in her hand. "Stop!" I yelled.

She whirled around, and her face registered complete shock. "Y-you," she whispered. "How are you still alive? You must have a power!"

Giving her a cocky grin, I replied, "No, but I've got some talented friends. Now, you're going to tell me everything about this "Company" of yours." She turned and bolted, but I'd been expecting it and was ready to launch myself at her.

I slammed into her back, sending her stumbling across the room, but she didn't fall as I expected her to. She spun around to face me and I dropped to the floor in an attempt to kick her legs out from under her. Eden leapt over my swing and kicked my supporting arm. I hit the cement, and though I was up again in a second she was faster. "I'm Company trained, bitch!" she hissed.

A quick analysis of her stance told me she tended to use speed and agility to her advantage. Damn. That was _my_ trick. The only way to get around her defenses was a swift and brutal attack. I dove at her, seizing her wrists and shoving her backward. She hooked a leg around my ankle and brought me crashing down beneath her. I kneed her in the stomach, and she winced. A blow to my face half-blinded me, and I scrabbled vainly at her face.

We grappled on the floor, and suddenly I found myself at a disadvantage. I had intended to grasp at her hair, desperate for anything to give me an edge against this girl, but her hair was cropped short. Mine hung at my shoulders, and she seized a lock and tugged my face up close to hers as she kicked me in the stomach.

I groaned as she opened her mouth. Quickly releasing her other wrist, I slammed my hands over my ears as she hummed something in that sibilant whisper that had enchanted me before. Once her mouth was safely closed again, I drove both fists hard into her chest, flinging her across the room. "Now would be a _really_ good time to do something, Peter!" I screamed.

And then my focus was shattered as Eden came crashing into me again. I managed to catch her by the shoulder and fling her over my hip, but before I could complete the spin, she had slipped out of my grasp and skidded across the cement. She came screeching back toward me, yelling aimlessly.

The sound of her voice, half-infused with her frightening power, entranced me just long enough that her knuckles connected hard with my temple. The world swam and I dropped to my knees, feeling her feet connect with various parts of my body. Blackness crept over the corners of my eyes.

There was a bang and a muffled yell, and suddenly the flurry of blows ceased. Once the numbness in my head faded away, I struggled to sit upright, but a firm pair of hands held me down. "Don't get up yet," came a voice in my ear. I opened my swelling eyes and saw Peter's face swimming over mine.

"Where is she?" I asked.

Peter sighed. "She got away. You were out for a few seconds," he said. "And..."

"What?" I demanded, sitting up despite his attempts to keep me flat on my back.

"Isaac's gone, too."

I groaned. "Dammit. Didn't you try to stop them?"

"And leave you passed out on the floor? I don't think so."

Exasperated, I struggled to my feet. "I'm fine. I'd have been fine. Maybe we can still catch up to them." I shook my head to clear away the lingering dizziness, then started toward the door.

"Uh-uh," Peter insisted. "You're hurt. You need first aid."

Whirling around to face him, I shouted, "I'm _fine_, Peter! I was a little messed up this morning, but I don't always need you to rescue me! We need to find that girl, we need to find Isaac, and _this isn't helping_!" I turned away and walked stiffly toward the door.

Halfway down the stairs leading away from the loft, I began to feel really bad about yelling at Peter. I turned back, climbing as quickly as my throbbing head and bruised knee would allow, and opened the apartment door. Peter was sitting on the concrete steps in the sunken area of the floor, staring at his hands.

He didn't look up as I approached, or when I sat down beside him. We sat in silence for a few minutes before I said in a small voice, "I'm sorry." Peter didn't reply, just looked at me. "I shouldn't have yelled at you."

"No, you shouldn't have."

I bit my lip, but couldn't think of anything to say that didn't sound like a sappy, Lifetime movie. "I guess I should go see if I can track down Eden," I finally said after a minute.

"Dianne, wait!" Peter called as I turned toward the door.

Apprehensive, I turned back to face him. "What?"

"I... understand," he said. "I get that you don't want me involved in this. It's personal, isn't it? About Sam's murder, I mean." I simply stared at him for a second, then burst out laughing. "What?" he demanded.

Barely controlling myself, I gasped, "That's not it at all! This isn't about Sam. Well, I guess it sort of is, but of _course_ I want you involved! Hell Peter, you're probably more involved in this than I _ever_ was. Besides," I added, "You _have_ saved my life a couple of times today. I owe you that much, at the very least."

Finally, he flashed me that familiar crooked smile, and a huge weight lifted off my chest. "Friends?" I asked hopefully.

Peter nodded, still grinning. "So," he said, "Are you gonna let me do something about your eye?"

"My--?" I reached up and touched my face, and as I did so, I realized that my left eye was quickly swelling shut where Eden had driven her knuckles into my face. "Oh. I guess it doesn't do a whole lot of good to go chasing after them when I can hardly see, does it?"

He shook his head. "Come on," he said. "We'll get that cleaned up, and then you can try to GPS her again." He guided me out of the apartment.

"So," I asked slyly as we walked down the stairs, "What exactly did you do to her? I heard you do something, but..."

Peter shrugged awkwardly. "I threw her across the apartment with one of Tanya's force fields."

"I thought you couldn't use your powers," I pointed out.

He grinned. "It was just... instinct. She was going to kill you. Again. I wasn't going to be much good in a fight, but I could help that way, at least."

I laughed again. "I think I know someone who would know what you mean." When he looked confused, I explained, "It's only thanks to Kara that my heart's kept beating _this_ long. God knows, nighttime in Gotham isn't the safest place to be when you're new to the vigilante business. Kara would follow me around for... I don't even _know_ how long. I got shot at a lot." Peter raised his eyebrows, but before he could get a word in edgewise, I took off down the street.

--

**Another Note From Lara: Yeah, definitely a little off. Both Peter and Dianne felt kind of OOC to me. But I spent so much time working and reworking every little sentence that I just didn't know what to change to make it feel right. My (sort of) canon fic 'Exodus' is much better than this, so if you want to read that instead of this, be my guest. I'm very excited about it...**

**And if any of you are super-confused about why Dianne got so mad at Peter, mention it in your review and I'll be happy to explain.**


	25. Family Brunch Quality Time or Torture?

**A Note From Lara: As unusual as that is at the moment, I actually liked this chapter. I got sudden inspiration for a clever little short subplot that will make several of my faithful reviewers very happy...**

--

I perched impatiently on Peter's counter as he fussed at my black eye with his bandages and salves and things. He applied a daub of some kind of cream to my eyelid, then stepped back. "Alright," he said, "That's done. Is there anything else that needs bandaging?"

"Nope. I'm good to go," I said, hopping off the counter. I was lying, of course. There were scratch marks from Eden's fingernails (translation: talons) all up and down my arms, which I'd carefully concealed under my sleeves, and I could feel about a hundred bruises darkening all across my body. Eden had really done a number on me. It'd been awhile since somebody had gotten the upper hand of me in a fight, and it wasn't exactly the best feeling in the world.

With quick steps, I crossed to his door and out into the hallway. I heard him sigh as he followed me.

"What happened to _you_?" Tanya gasped as I came into the apartment.

I shrugged, grabbing her laptop quickly and settling in to reenter the GPS system, thankful I'd left myself a back door the last time. "She got in a fistfight with a girl who can control people. Twice," Peter answered for me. "Practically got herself killed. Now she's trying to GPS her using the girl's cell phone."

"Actually," I commented, not looking up from the screen, "It looks like her cell phone might be off. I can't find her." My fingers flew across the keys. "But maybe if the entry codes for that FBI tracker satellite are the same in this universe, I can still... Dammit. Not the same. If they were, it wouldn't matter that her phone's off. I still could've located it. But _no_ codes had to be _different_...."

Peter and Tanya glanced at each other, but I hardly noticed. "Well, if _somebody_ hadn't let them get away," I muttered. "Ah whatever, you're new in the game. You'll pick up fast." Tanya raised her eyebrows, giving Peter a deeply confused look, but neither he nor I felt like enlightening her.

I bit my lip, thinking. "You know what? It doesn't matter. This... _Company_... probably has other agents in the city, right? It's just a matter of finding them. And don't we have another puzzle to work on?"

"Save the cheerleader, save the world."

"Right. So, did you talk to Simone about the missing painting?" I asked. "Isaac said he gave it to her, right?"

Peter nodded. "Yeah. She said it got sold. To Daniel Linderman."

The little conspiracy theorist in my brain borrowed control of my mouth long enough to squawk, "You mean the mobster who had your father in his pocket and employed _both_ my parents?" I immediately vowed to strangle said conspiracy theorist, no matter how useful she might be. Peter's dad had only been dead a few months- that was no way to talk about him.

"Yes, that's him," Peter replied.

I grinned. "Well then, it's just a matter of family connections to get it _back_, isn't it? Either you convince Nathan to get it for you, or I go cross-country to demand employment, then make off with the painting when he's not looking."

Peter nodded. "Yeah, I think we'll try the asking-Nathan option first. I'm meeting the family for lunch tomorrow. I can ask Nathan then."

"I'm coming with you!" I announced immediately. "Knowing Nathan, he's not gonna give this one up easily. He's already convinced you're deranged or something; he won't feed that, now will he? You'll want me there, for moral support or for arguing your case or both. Trust me on this one."

He looked like he wanted to argue. But in a stunning display of self-preservation, he wisely decided not to.

--

Hiro and Ando- back together again!- sat down in the Sunup Diner in Cooksville, Texas. It had been a long drive from Vegas, but they had accomplished it in under two days. A pretty redheaded waitress approached their table. "Tourists, huh? How can I help y'all?" she asked, smiling.

"How did you know we are tourists?" Hiro asked.

"Just a lucky guess," the waitress said. "What can I get for you boys?"

"Waffles!" Hiro said immediately. Ando mumbled something about fatty foods and the waitress, grinning cheekily and sharing a conspiratorial look with Hiro, suggested cottage cheese. Hiro giggled, and the woman smiled at him.

Twenty minutes later, Hiro was engaged in teaching the waitress, whose name was Charlie, Japanese. "You learn Japanese _very_ fast..." he said, awed as Charlie repeated the phrases he was teaching her perfectly.

"Yeah, well, lately I just seem to remember _everything_ I read or hear," she said uncomfortably.

Hiro's eyes widened with excitement. "Ooh! You have power! Big memory!" Charlie smiled, attempting to dismiss the comment.

From a shadowy corner of the room, a dark figure watched.

--

"Come to bed."

DL Hawkins was a man who usually knew where he stood- with his friends, with his son. And he had _thought_ he knew where he stood with his wife. She was mad at him. No, scratch that, she _hated_ him for leaving her and Micah. What had happened in the last few minutes to change her mind? He reviewed his time at home in his mind.

He had successfully avoided the cops parked outside by walking through the back wall. He had talked to Niki, who had threatened to scream. When suspicious cops came to the door a few minutes later, however, she lied for him, sent them away. They talked. She told him he could stay the night but had to leave in the morning, then insisted that he sleep on the couch.

But now, not only was she wearing her wedding ring again, she was inviting him to bed? Strange.

There'd been a lot of strange in his life lately. First this weird walking-through-walls stuff that had started just a few weeks ago, and the mess with his heist gone wrong... That was confusing. He had planned to take a couple million from Linderman, just to get bills off their backs. But someone- a woman, from all accounts- had slaughtered his team and framed him. Since then, he'd been on the run for the murder of some of his best friends.

Oh well. Tomorrow... tomorrow, he would learn the truth. He would see some of his contacts, ask what they knew about the murder of his team, and take it to the police. Then all of this would be over. He wouldn't be a suspect anymore, and he and Niki and Micah could go back to a normal life...

--

_11 a.m. the next morning_

_Petrelli Mansion_

"Holy crap," I whispered, staring around as Peter lead me through the halls of his childhood home, "I knew your family was loaded, but... holy _crap!_"

Peter laughed at my reaction. "My mother's taste is a little... ornate."

"I can tell. _Nobody_ needs that much marble."

"That's what I always said, but the house had already been built, so there wasn't much they could do about it." We passed through a lovely green room that opened to the outdoors.

As we stepped onto the terrace, I was confronted by the sight of the entire Petrelli clan plus a reporter arrayed against me, at a breakfast table complete with lace and crystal table settings.. Part of me thanked _god_ that Bruce's "cover identity" loved ritzy parties or I had a feeling I would very quickly be way out of my depth.

"Well what is _this_?" Peter asked goodnaturedly.

The older, dark-haired woman I assumed was the infamous Angela Petrelli said, "This is brunch. We _always_ have brunch."

"Since _when_?" Peter asked. I suppressed a grin. Caught in a lie, Mama Petrelli, caught in a lie.

"Sit down, Peter," she commanded, ignoring his surprised question. "Now, who's your friend?" She gestured imperiously to a servant- yes, an actual servant, just like Bruce had for special occasions- to bring out an extra chair.

As I sat down between Peter and one of his newphews, he answered his mother's question. "This is my friend, Dianne Morten. I've mentioned Dianne, haven't I? She used to work for Nathan?" Speaking of Nathan... I glanced up to the head of the table where my former employer was sitting next to his shockingly beautiful wife, Heidi. He smiled distantly at me.

"Ah yes," Angela said, although I had a sneaking suspicion that she didn't remember hearing me mentioned at all. "Dianne. Of course. Charming to finally meet you."

"Likewise," I said, already feeling sick of the pleasant charade. It was always this way- having to fake charming and cordial and pleasant left an oversweet taste in my mouth that I _hated_. But for Peter's sake, I would try to keep an open mind. After all, the _whole_ family couldn't be crazy, if he'd come out of it, right?

Nathan cleared his throat. "Uh... Pete, can I talk to you for a sec?" Peter glanced at me, and I nodded.

The Brothers Petrelli: exit stage right. The Petrelli women: making small talk with the corderoy-soaked reporter. Me: wondering what the hell to say to feel less like a ninth wheel.

I turned to the kid on my left. "So... you're Nathan's son, huh?" I asked.

"Yeah," the kid said like it was the stupidest question he'd ever been asked.

"Are you Simon or Monty?" I asked. Peter had mentioned his nephews, but I'd never seen pictures, so I had no idea which was which.

The kid grinned at me. "I'm Monty," he said. "I'm seven."

I nodded. This was why I completely and utterly hated kids. They made no sense. "I can see that," I said. "So, must be pretty... um... interesting to have your dad be running for Congress, huh?" Monty shrugged and popped a strawberry into his mouth. I sighed inwardly. Had I really been reduced to making conversation with seven-year-olds in one of the ritziest mansions on the eastern seaboard? This was a sad, sad state of affairs.

Two long minutes later, Peter and Nathan returned. "Peter!" I heard Nathan call in a panicked-sounding voice, right before they reemerged on the terrace.

"He was just giving me a hard time about showing up in cords," Peter said nonchallantly. "I'm trying to stay grounded, y'know?" I glanced at him quizzically, and he shot me a small smile.

The reporter across the table- whose name, I'd gathered, was Oliver- immediately latched onto Nathan. "Mr. Petrelli, I understand that your campaign recently accepted a donation from the Linderman Group."

"Yes, he was a friend of my father's," Nathan said coolly.

"Such a friend as to warrant flying down to meet with a reputed mobster in person?" Oliver asked. Ooh. Snap. I'd seen Lois Lane in action, so I wasn't impressed by many "reporters," but this guy was good, I had to hand it to him. Best of all, he continued to press his advantage once he had it. Good for you, Oliver, don't give up your edge, I thought. "I understand that there was... a bit of a scare at the casino, wasn't there? You went missing for several hours... and there was a _blonde_ involved?"

Peter shot Nathan a glance across the suddenly silent table. "Yeah, I'm sure you've heard about my recent, uh, mental health... issue. Nathan was going to see a specialist... a _female _specialist... about my about my care. That's just the kinda guy he is- taking time out of his busy schedule to help out his messed-up little brother."

I almost choked on the cinnamon bun Heidi had passed me.

When Oliver and the rest of the family were sufficiently distracted, I leaned close to Peter and whispered, "They should call you _Saint_ Peter." He shrugged, digging into the mixed pile of breakfast items his nephews had ungracefully heaped on his plate.

"So," I whispered in his ear, "What did you say to Nathan earlier to make him freak out so much?"

A devilish grin crossed his face. "I told him I was gonna fly off the terrace." I laughed out loud, suddenly drawing the eyes of the table back to us for a moment.

"You should have done it," I whispered when the gazes of the rest of Peter's family had turned back to the older brother.

Peter shrugged. "Nah, I wouldn't do that to Nate."

"Doesn't change the fact that you should have done it."

He rolled his eyes. "So, did you talk to him?" I asked.

"Yeah. He did a lot of topic-changing. But just in general, he said he wasn't going to help us get that painting."

I sighed. "Looks like I'm going on a road trip to Vegas after all. Just freaking great." I paused. "It's a sad, sad day when I'm mad about having to go to Vegas," I said after a moment of thought. Peter laughed.

--

**A Note From Lara: Now, I completely love irony (and if you hadn't already figured that out, there's something _wrong_ with you but whatever), so the subplot that's going to be introduced next chapter is just an ironic little thing that you'd probably have to be in my head to fully appreciate, but it makes me happy, so whatever.**

**Reviews equal love.**


	26. The Last Painting, or The Future Sucks

**A Note From Lara: Okay, so I just totally realized that Hiro and Ando are supposed to still be in California. All I can say is "Oops." So they're in Cali still, and Niki's busy slaughtering their poker buddies. Let's just assume I didn't make that little mistake, shall we?**

--

_Yesterday_

_New York Journal General Offices_

"Hold the presses, I've got a scoop!" Oliver Dennison said triumphantly, sliding into his editor's private office. He handed his copy to the balding man behind the desk for proofing.

After a brief silence as the man read, he glanced up, a concerned look on his face. "Are you sure you want us to run this, Ollie? I mean, it seems a little gossip-mag, doesn't it?"

Oliver grinned. "Oh, run it in the gossip section if you want, but I want that headline on the front page of Section B, at least. It's good, Henry. This guy was in the news last week for that stunt he pulled, so let's bring him back, stir things up a little, what do you say?" His editor examined the page again.

"Fine, Oliver. Get somebody to proof it for you, then send it down to Copy, alright?"

--

_Today_

"Morning," I yawned, running my hands through the mass of knots that was my early-morning hair. Tanya, looking perfect as always, was pouring herself a second cup of coffee. Or at least, what I _hoped_ was only her second cup. "Good morning," she muttered, engrossed in the gossip section of that day's _Journal_.

Flopping lazily into a chair, I poured a cup of coffee of my own. After briefly contemplating the sugar bowl, I emptied most of the contents into the cup and swirled the liquid around before drinking it. And then, the front page of the section Tanya had clutched in her hand caught my eye. "Give me that!" I demanded, snatching it from her.

The headline stared up at me in big bold letters: "DA's Brother: Love at Last?" And above it... a picture of me and Peter leaving the mansion after "brunch" yesterday. It was actually a pretty good picture. Peter's hand was on my shoulder, and you couldn't even see my black eye under the makeup I had "borrowed" from Tanya. Both of us were smiling, as if at some private joke. Completely nonplussed, I read the article accompanying the confusing headline.

_It almost seems like a story out a dramatic romance novel. Peter Petrelli, the deeply depressed brother of Congressional candidate Nathan Petrelli, tried to commit suicide last week by jumping off his apartment building. This week, he is by his own report, "very grounded." So what changed?_

_If yesterday's Petrelli family brunch is anything to go by, the answer is new girlfriend Dianne Morten. Morten, a pretty girl of 25, is the former employee of DA Nathan Petrelli. "That's where they met," says Petrelli. "Peter had come to visit me at campaign headquarters about a month ago, and Dianne was my secretary at the time. They had an immediate connection... When they discovered they lived in the same apartment building, they started spending a lot of time together."_

_But how is the Petrelli family reacting to Peter's new relationship? Perhaps not so well. According to Nathan Petrelli's chief of staff, Ms. Morten was fired shortly after Peter's failed suicide attempt. Is this perhaps because the elder Petrelli blames the stress of a new girlfriend for the attempt?_

I stopped reading, disgusted. "Mother-fucking tabloids!" I screamed, running out of the apartment. Had Peter seen this?

My knuckles collided hard with his door several times. It didn't take him long to open the door, and I stormed inside, kicking the door shut after me. "Have you seen it?" I demanded, shaking the paper under his nose. He laughed. "WHAT?" I demanded. "What is funny about this?"

Still chuckling, Peter replied, "Your expression. You look like a wet cat."

My mouth dropped open, but for once I couldn't come up with a brilliant comeback, and closed it again. "Seriously, aren't you upset about this?" I asked finally.

Peter shrugged. "Not particularly."

"Not particularly? It doesn't _particularly_ bother you that half the metro area is now convinced that you're sleeping with your best friend?" I demanded. "Dammit, I was thinking _nice thoughts_ about that stupid Oliver Dennison yesterday! Comparing him to Lois. Well no more. He's a snake. No better than goddamn_ Linda Lake_!"

I went on in this manner for several minutes before Peter cleared his throat. "Are you done?" he asked when I fell silent. "Good. Look, it's fine. I've had worse said about me in far more embarrassing places than the front page of the _Journal._"

"High school was not kind to you, was it?" I said, more stating a fact than anything. I'd heard his Tales of the Torture That Is the Tenth Grade before.

He shrugged. "I mean, seriously, what's the very worst that happens?"

"Simone could see it."

"So?" he said nonchalantly.

I narrowed my eyes, surprised by his _savoir faire_. "Are you _over_ her?" I demanded. An awkward smile crept across his face. "You _are_! Oh my god, you are! Why don't you tell me these things? Hell, if I'm not around, tell _Tanya_! She'll be sure to pass it along." I shook my head. "But that's completely irrelevant. I fully intend to storm the Journal's office, and demand a retraction."

Peter shrugged. "I don't think that's really necessary."

"Why?" I asked slyly, suddenly completely unwilling to pass up the opportunity to tease him. My voice took on a coy, seductive tone, and I stepped very close to him. "Unless of course you intend to make this a self-fulfilling prophecy?" I twined my fingers into his hair, smiling predatorially. He gulped, and I murmured, "I wouldn't really be averse to that, you know." He suddenly looked as if someone had just force-fed him cat food, and it was my turn to laugh. "Gotcha! _That's_ for the wet cat comment." I bopped him over the head with the folded-up paper and turned away.

Halfway to the door, I stopped and turned back to face him. "Oh, and Peter? I'm not dropping this. If I have to personally strangle Oliver Dennison, I will."

He chuckled. "I know you way too well to expect anything else."

I widened my eyes innocently. "Whatever can you mean?" I asked.

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe the fact that you're the stubbornest, most..." He paused, seemingly searching for the right word. "The most go-get-'em girl I ever met in my entire life."

I grinned, heading for the door. "If I weren't, I wouldn't be doing my job right." I paused. Turned around. "Oh, and Peter? In future it's "woman" or "crazy bitch." I've decked every person who's referred to me as a "girl" since the seventh grade, and I'd hate to ruin your pretty face."

Spinning on my heel, I shot a grin over my shoulder to show him I didn't really mean it, and marched out the door. Once his apartment was safely locked again, I leaned against the wall, wondering what the hell I'd meant by all that. Friendly banter was a general part of our mode of operations, but that had just gone above and beyond.

"Peter?" I called, poking my head back into his apartment, "I'm going to go bother Nathan this afternoon. Try and get him to get that painting for us and all that." A muffled reply from the other end of the apartment was all the answer I got.

--

Nathan wouldn't see me. I figured as much. Maybe he was as mad about the _Journal_ article as I was. So I ferreted out Simone. Well, walked back and forth in front of her gallery until she came out was more like it.

"Hey Dianne," she said, unlocking the door for the evening. "Funny seeing you here. How are you?"

I smiled. "I'm good. You?"

She nodded. "I'm alright. My father hasn't been doing so well the last couple of days, though. Peter's replacement thinks he's pretty close, so..." She trailed away sadly, and I nodded as sympathetically as I could.

"I'm sorry," I said. "Look, Peter told me you sold the painting he's trying to find to Linderman, right?" She nodded. "Well, is there any way at all you can get it back? Even just a photograph of it, or something?"

Simone shrugged. "I think I have a digital image somewhere in the back. I keep photos of most of the paintings I sell. Especially Isaac's. Would you like me to look?" I nodded excitedly, stepping inside the gallery with her. I loitered by the door until she returned several minutes later, a small white envelope clutched in her hand.. "I found it," she said. "Look, Dianne, why does Peter want this painting so badly?"

"He met a time traveler who told him how to save the future. Apparently the world gets _real_ messed up in... well, not too long. We don't know how, we don't know when, but to stop it we have to save a cheerleader. A cheerleader that Isaac just happened to paint. We need to know where she is. This picture can tell us."

Simone's eyes bugged out at my matter-of-fact statements, and for a moment she didn't look half so pretty, with her green eyes sticking two inches out of her head. It didn't last long, but for some reason I took a great deal of satisfaction out of the knowledge that she wasn't quite so shockingly beautiful _all_ the time.

"Um. Well. Okay. That's, uh, good to know," she sputtered.

I nodded. "Thanks Simone. I guess I should probably take this to Peter. He'll be glad to get his hands on it." She shrugged awkwardly, and I turned to leave. The weird tension in the air made me want to crawl out of my skin anyway.

--

About two blocks from my apartment, it occurred to me that I hadn't even looked at the picture. Opening the tab on the envelope, I pulled out the photo and glanced at it. And immediately did a double-take.

My mind reeled, and the sounds of the street died away. It was just me and the image on the paper, standing in a sound vacuum. This couldn't be real. I suddenly hoped against hope that Peter and I were both crazy and Isaac couldn't paint the future after all. Because if this was what the future held, I didn't want to know!

Then some guy bumped into me hard, jolting me back to reality. The sound returned to my life, and I yelled instinctively, "Watch where you're going, you jerk!" The guy flipped me off without turning around, and I stuffed the picture bacck into its envelope.

With fast steps and a heavy heart, I traced the last few blocks to the apartment building in a daze. Quickly, I headed for me usual refuge- the roof of the building.

But when I arrived, I discovered that I wasn't the only one who'd sought solace up here. Peter was leaning against a brick-lined vent, watching the portion of the street you could actually see from up here. October sunlight bathed his face in a warm glow, and his long bangs fell in his eyes. A small smile creased his face, and my heart twisted painfully.

He turned around quickly when I pushed open the stairwell door. "Dianne! Did you talk to Nate?" he asked excitedly. I bit my lip and remained silent, staring at the gravel beneath my feet. I didn't have to meet his eyes to know that my silence had provoked intense concern there. I was _never_ quiet unless something was very wrong. "Dianne?" he asked, and sure enough, there was an edge of worry in his voice. His hands descended on my shoulders. "What is it? What's happened?"

"I talked to Simone," I said in a flat voice. "I got a digital image of the last painting."

"Well that's great!" he exclaimed. After a slight pause, he asked, "Isn't it?"

I shrugged, still not meeting his eyes. "I thought it was, until I _looked_ at it. It's not... not pretty." I pulled the envelope out of my pocket and handed it over. He opened it and examined the picture.

"Is this... me?" he asked slowly, pointing at the mangled body in the lower half of the picture.

"Maybe," I said. "It sure looks like it. It looks... like you're dead. Which sucks. A whole lot. I don't want you to die."

Peter raised an eyebrow. "I don't want to die either." He glanced back at the picture. "Union Wells High School. That's where the cheerleader is?" I nodded. "So where's that?"

"I don't know," I said, "But it'll take me about five minutes to find out, if Tanya doesn't mind me messing up her laptop again."

"Then let's go ask her," Peter suggested. Blue eyes met brown as I nodded, and I knew we'd both accepted the contents of the painting. If it happened, it happened. Neither of our lives was worth risking the future. We both knew enough about destiny to know that much.

--

"Hey Tanya!" I yelled, bursting into the kitchen, "Can I use your laptop to figure out where Peter's gonna die?"

The blonde emerged from the general direction of the living room, attempting to balance a tray of full coffee mugs on a force field she was projecting from her index finger. "What?" she asked sarcastically. "I didn't hear you right. I thought you just said you wanted to use my laptop to figure out where Peter's going to die."

I shrugged. "I have weird hobbies. So sue me."

Tanya casually extended the force field, leaving the tray hanging on a cloud of purple halfway across the room as she walked away from it. Grabbing her laptop from the table in the hallway, she tossed it to me. "Well _somebody's_ gotten very comfortable with her powers, hasn't she? How's Spens coming?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. Not so well, I don't think. He's basically barricaded himself in his apartment and won't come out. I think he's scared of hurting somebody."

I groaned inwardly, flipping open the laptop and Googling "Union Wells High" before I'd even left the kitchen. Peter followed me into the living room, and didn't speak.

It only took me three minutes to find what I was looking for. "Okay," I said, "There are several Union Wells High Schools around the country, but only one with cheerleading uniforms that look like the ones in Isaac's painting. It looks like we're going to Texas. And soon. I checked the school's webpage, and homecoming is tomorrow."

Peter and I glanced at each other. "Texas is a sucky place to die." He nodded, and the moment got too intense for me. "George Bush is from Texas," I commented. He burst out laughing, and I was much relieved.

--

**Another Note From Lara: Woo! That was fun. Okay, Erin, I know I promised you a new chapter by 7:30. If I didn't get distracted. Based on the fact that I'm uploading this at approximately 8:20, it's safe to say I got distracted.**


	27. Disagreements

**A Note From Lara: Alright. I wasn't too happy with the first scene of this chapter. I rewrote it about a dozen times. Everything else seems pretty much fine, but the first scene feels... I don't know. It was one of those things that was good in theory, but not in practice, I guess. I kept searching for the right emotional turning point, and I just couldn't seem to find it, so I just stuck something in there that wasn't totally OOC. **

**Also, I'm getting really tired of Dianne getting mad. I mean, yeah she's got a hot temper, but it's getting to be a little much. So I solemly swear that this will be the last time she will be yelling at Peter (except jokingly, on occasion) in this fic.**

--

"Okay," I said decisively. "We're going to Odessa tomorrow. You want me to book a flight, or were you planning on just zipping down there self-propelled?"

Peter gave a resigned sigh, but he was smiling. "Dianne, you know I can't really use my powers. I doubt I could stay in the air as far as Texas even if I wanted to."

"Well, you managed alright the other day when you were stopping me from becoming a pavement pancake," I pointed out.

He looked incredibly uncomfortable all of a sudden as he said, "Yeah, well, that was different." My natural curiosity was piqued, and I desperately wanted to pursue this and ask just _why _it was different. But there was something in Peter's eyes that suggested that this might be a bad idea, so I defied every instinct I'd ever had and left well enough alone.

I nodded. "Right. Plane trip, then. I'll get online right now and try to book a couple of seats, okay?"

Suddenly, his expression went from uncomfortable to terrified to stubborn so fast I think I may have gotten whiplash. "A _couple_ of seats? You're not coming!" he exclaimed.

Dammit, I had been trying to follow Peter's good example and be nice to people and _not_ fly off the handle for no real reason, but his demanding tone immediately raised all kinds of alarms in my head. "Oh really?" I said in a dangerous voice. "And why's that?"

"Because I'm not going to put you in danger!" he announced heatedly.

I crossed my arms. "Heard it before," I said, pretending to examine my nails. "Been there, done that. But I can take care of myself, Peter."

"Can you? You didn't handle Eden so well the other day!"

Okay. I could have dealt with anything that he'd said but that. _That_ was a raw nerve, and he had just stabbed it with a needle. My defeat at the hands of some random girl whose martial arts skills were clearly inferior to mine still smarted. Leaping to my feet, I yelled, "That was a _fluke_!" I said, my voice rising with every syllable. "For god's sake, I can keep control of all of the Gotham underworld _on my own._ I think that qualifies me to take on some mystery stalker."

Peter took a deep steadying breath, and the little voice in the back of my mind whispered that I ought to do the same. But, as always, I told the voice to stuff it you-know-where and allowed the fury to keep building.

"But what if something did happen?" Peter asked in a quiet voice. "What if you _died_? What then?"

I threw up my hands. "Oh bullshit. I learned a long time ago that 'what ifs' will never get you anywhere except a one-way ticket to indecision. And nothing good ever comes of being indecisive. Look, this painting shows _you_ dead, not me. I'm nowhere, not in any of these Cheerleader paintings of Isaac's. Maybe that's exactly it. This could be the turning point. Maybe if I don't let you keep me here and don't let you go off on your own, we can save this girl and keep you alive."

He just looked at me for a moment, then said stubbornly, even more softly than before, "I don't want anything to happen to you."

My anger subsided, and I sighed. "I know," I said. "But that's exactly why I have to come with you. Don't you get it? We're trying to change the future. The future Isaac painted, the one that ends with both you _and_ the cheerleader dead is what's going to happen unless we don't do something to change it."

There was a brief silence, in which Peter mulled that over. "And besides," I said after a moment, "I don't want anything to happen to you, either."

Peter chuckled at that. "Alright then," he said, crossing the space between us and putting his arm around my shoulders, "I promise not to die, if you promise not to do anything stupid that'll get _you_ killed. How does that sound?"

I twisted my head to glance up at him. There was a smile on my lips, but I knew it didn't reach my eyes. "It sounds like promises neither of us will be able to keep. No matter what we say now, I know you too well not to know that you'll go off and do what it takes to save the day, personal safety be damned. And as for me... well, people have been trying to get me to make that promise for the past nine or ten years, and it still hasn't taken hold." I brandished the photo Simone had given me. "If this happens... what do we do?"

He shook his head. "I have no idea," he said. But I could see something in his eyes, a kind of determination I'd only seen there once or twice before, but that I had come to admire. And right then and there, I made the decision that if the painting came true, I'd follow up. No matter what happened, I'd keep fighting to do the thing that Peter had dedicated the past week and a half of his life to. If Peter died (although every inch of me flinched away from the thought), I would save the cheerleader. Dammit, I'd save the world, and this time I'd do it right.

"Well, we're not going to get anything done with 'what ifs,' like you said," Peter announced, shocking me out of my train of thought.

"Plane tickets. Right." I grabbed Tanya's laptop again, and began searching for a flight out of New York that would get us there in time. Peter watched me intently, a strange expression on his face. "Shit," I hissed after several minutes. "Well, guess what. We can either fly out Saturday- which is _after_ the cheerleader is going to get attacked- or we can fly out of JFK at three a.m. this morning. Every other flight to Texas going out is booked solid. So unless you want to give our other travel options another try, we're going to have a "fun" night."

Peter shrugged. "At least we can get there," he said.

I nodded, reserving seats on the flight as I did so. "Okay. I'll throw some stuff together. Oh, and I think you need to go talk to Spens. Tanya mentioned that he was kind of freaked out over the whole powers thing."

He stood up. "Okay," he said. "You coming?"

"I wasn't planning on it," I said. "I'm getting sick of Spens hitting on me every time he sees me. It's getting old _real_ fast." Peter chuckled, but it felt forced. I raised my eyebrows, and said, "I'll get my stuff packed and meet you downstairs at... nine o'clock?"

"Nine seems a little early if we're not flying out until three," he pointed out.

"I know. I was thinking we ought to stop by Isaac's first. Maybe there'll be some more paintings that could be useful."

Peter made a "duh" gesture. "And this is why I'd be in over my head without you. You point out all this stuff I'd never have thought of for myself."

Grinning, I replied, "I kind of doubt that. You're a smart guy, I bet it would have occurred to you eventually. Now get out of here! Go on, go talk Spens out of his self-loathing phobia or whatever's wrong with him." Peter gave me an ironic salute and exited the apartment.

Tanya, whom I hadn't noticed leaning against the door frame, crossed the living room floor to where I was standing. "Wow," she said.

"What?"

She crossed her arms. "You _know_ what," she said, tossing her red-blonde hair over her shoulder. My expression must have shown my confusion, because she rolled her eyes and said, "You and Peter. It's fairly obvious." I opened my mouth, then closed it again, unsure what exactly she was getting at. I suppose, given the slanderous article in the _Journal_ that morning, I should have been just a _little_ quicker on the uptake, but for once I wasn't really tracking. "You know," Tanya ennumerated, clearly exasperated with me. "The fact that you're clearly in love with him."

My jaw dropped. "You... I... _What?_" I stuttered. Once my brain caught up with my tongue, I gasped, "What do you mean? I'm not in love with Peter! He's my best friend!"

Tanya chuckled. "Oh what_ever_, Dianne. That whole "I can't just let you die" thing? I may not know what the hell is going on right now, but..." She trailed away, attempting to use hand gestures to convey the rest of her point. "Anyway, deny it all you want, but I saw the look on your face when you were talking to him just now. And more importantly, I saw _his_ face."

I rolled my eyes, trying to dislodge the questions Tanya's observation had suddenly seeded in my mind. "You know, I used to think having an active imagination was a good thing," I said sarcastically. She smiled smugly, and I resisted the temptation to hit something. "Look," I huffed, "I have some packing to do, and then I'm going to go enact a creative and slightly hilarious revenge on one Oliver Dennison, so if you don't mind..." I brushed past her out of the living room.

--

Peter rapped on the waterstained door across the hall from his own. There was no answer from within, and the apartment was uncharacteristically silent. No music blasted from the other side, which deepened Peter's concern. "Spens?" he called. There was no answer, and Peter tried the handle of the door. Locked, as he'd expected. But once again, being Dianne Morten's best friend was paying off unexpectedly. Three weeks ago, she'd taught him how to pick a simple lock; she'd even given him a pair of her homemade lockpicks, which worked far better than hairpins.

Once he'd retrieved the picks from his apartment, he inserted one into the lock, jiggling it around until he found the catch. With a twist that wasn't near as deft as it could have been if he'd had more practice, he managed to jimmy the lock apart. Another twist on the handle, and the door opened easily.

He stepped into the apartment, glancing around. The place was a mess. Empty beer cans lay strewn across the floor, mixed in with dirty clothes and a stack of greasy pizza boxes covered the kitchen table. A huge stereo system covered a whole wall in the living room, and a bass guitar held together with gorilla tape was propped against it. Peter noticed vaguely that chunks of plaster had fallen from the ceiling, and the walls were covered in a spiderweb of cracks.

"Spens?" he called again. "Are you in here?" There was no answer, but suddenly the apartment began to shake. As he grasped a chair for support, he noted that the shocks seemed to be coming from the back end of the apartment. A trickle of plaster dust fell from the variouos holes in the ceiling, landing in Peter's eyes. By the time he had wiped the grit from beneath his eyelids, the quake had subsided.

Peter headed for the back half of the apartment. "Where are you?" he asked of the silence. As he entered the bedroom, he saw that the greatest concentration of the destruction was in here. Most of the furniture had fractured and broken, lying in splinters on the floor. The ceiling was one heavy footstep away from collapsing, and the window was cracked. Peering through the wreckage, Peter spotted a twisted form tucked back into the closet.

He pushed open the door, and Spens shrank back from the sudden light. His brilliant red beard was unkempt, and his long hair straggled around his face. Small cuts riddled his face and arms, and he blinked fearfully up at Peter through bloodshot eyes. "Get back!" he exclaimed. "Stay away!"

"It's okay," Peter said placatingly. "It's just me. It's just Peter. Are you okay?" He knelt on the floor beside the prostrate man.

Curled tightly into a fetal position, Spens peered up through his hair at Peter's face. "I can't control it," he said hoarsely. "I can't control it and then the whole room starts to come down. I'm going to kill someone one of these days. I'm going to kill someone." Tears poured out of his eyes and he turned away from Peter, scrubbing at his face with a grubby hand.

Horror-struck, Peter placed a comforting hand on Spens's shoulder. "It's alright," he said. "We'll... we can find a way to control it, alright? I have to go to Texas for a couple of days, but we can try and figure this thing out when I get back."

Spens shrugged off his hand, but nodded. "A'right," he muttered. "But... what do I do until then?" His gray eyes met Peter's, silently pleading for Peter to tell him what to do, begging for someone to guide him and give him direction. Peter suddenly wished for Nathan's leadership. Nathan would know what to do now.

"I... uh, I guess you ought to stick close to Tanya until I get back. If you lose control around her, she can contain the quake, at the very least. She's got a pretty good handle on her force fields, from what I saw this afternoon," Peter suggested.

"Yeah, 'cause that makes me feel _so_ much better," Spens said ruefully. He chuckled dryly. "Thanks, man. I've been hiding in here for like a week."

Peter nodded. "That's what Tanya said. Listen man, do you want some help cleaning this up?"

The other man shook his head. "Nah. I got it. Don't stick your neck out any farther. I'll... try to keep things under control, alright?"

--

I tossed a few changes of clothes into my ubiquitous duffel bag, going over and over what Tanya had "observed" in my mind. It was utterly ridiculous of course. There was nothing whatsoever between Peter and me, but still... I had to wonder just what it was that had made her think that there could be.

Of course we were close. That could have been what she was picking up on. But that was just how we were. We were best friends, and she was going to have to get over it. It was just her crush on Peter talking.

Right?

Pulling my head out of that line of thought, I pulled on my black jeans and a tight black hooded sweater. With my utility belt firmly in place, I crossed to the window. Throwing up the pane, I leaned out, checking to make sure no one was looking. Revenge was sweet, but what I had in mind was a minor felony and I preferred that no one actually saw me.

I shot a launch line across the street and in the light of the setting sun began my above street level trip across the city...

--

**Another Note From Lara: Alright, so the parentals have laid down the law and say that since I still have the ACTs to study for, I can't do any of my fan fiction writing until the end of April. Of course, if you _review_, I may be induced to use my free period at school to do some writing so that you'll get updates before then...**

***hint hint hint***


	28. A Glimpse Into The Future

**A Note From Lara: Well, it took me longer than I prefer, but I finally managed to find a touchstone for this chapter. How awful is it that I can be so completely inspired for the _next_ chapter (or two) and have no idea where to go with the one that has to come first? Oh well, I think you'll be pleased with what I've got for you...**

--

Peter glanced at the clock; it was nine-thirty. Dianne had said she'd be ready by nine. _Where was she? _

He had been pacing his apartment since shortly before nine o'clock, expecting his friend to come bursting into the room in her usual hurricane way at any moment, but she had yet to appear. Although he knew all too well that Dianne could take care of herself- she'd proved _that_ practically the first time he'd met her- it was in his nature to worry, and Peter was nearly frantic. Aside from one notable occasion, Dianne was always on time.

At that moment, the object of his concern pushed open the door, slinging a stuffed black backpack over her shoulder as she entered. "Where've you been?" he asked, all too aware of the obvious relief coloring his voice.

"Nowhere," she said, perhaps a little too innocently. "I just had some massive explaining to do to Tanya."

The undertone to her voice was what first tipped him off that something was not right. Then he realized that her hair was set high up on her head in a ponytail. Dianne never tied her hair up unless she was up to something. That, combined with the fact that she was dressed head-to-toe in black, from the short-sleeved hooded sweater even down to her socks, made him ask again.

"Seriously, what have you been up to?" She shrugged, and as she did to, the other side of her face was exposed to the light. "Dianne," he said slowly, "Why do you have grease all over your face?" Her huge blue eyes widened further, and she raised a hand quickly to her cheek. He watched her consternation with growing amusement as she pulled oil-blackened fingers away and stared at them in surprise.

"Dammit," she muttered. "Thought I got all that off."

He laughed, causing her to cross her arms and glare at him, which only increased his amusement. "Fess up, Dianne. What did you do?"

She glanced up at the ceiling. "I may or may not have exacted revenge on someone who may or may not be Oliver Dennison," she said, in a tone that belied her ambiguous wording.

Peter raised his eyebrows. "Should I ask how, or do I not want to know?"

Dianne rolled her eyes. "Messed with the suspension on his BMW. And his front tires are currently in residence on the radio mast of the Chrystler Building. With his name carved into them."

He stared at her in silence for a few seconds before saying archly, "That's all?"

Punching him lightly in the shoulder, Dianne laughed. "Oh come on, I only had twenty-four hours to plot! If I'd had more time, you know I could've come up with something slicker and _way_ more devious." Peter nodded, his crooked smile echoing her own, but he wasn't sure Dianne was truly capable of "devious." Subtle and insanely clever, certainly. But devious was so degrading...

"So, are we going or what?" she demanded, interrupting his train of thought. "I thought we had a stop to make at Isaac's before we head to the airport."

"Yeah. I guess so," he said, picking up his own bag.

--

Five minutes later, we were in a cab on the way to the painter's loft. "Speaking of Isaac," I said suddenly, "I tried to GPS Eden McCain again. Nothing. Nada. Her cell phone must be off. But there might be other ways to track her down; after we clear up this whole Cheerleader mess, you wanna attempt a rescue mission? Get Isaac back?"

"Actually, I was just thinking about that this morning," Peter said. "We've just been sitting here, trying to figure out what his paintings meant, with him a captive god-knows-where..."

I nodded. "Exactly. If it weren't for the bomb thing, I'd have been spending every second of my time trying to track him down." I sighed, remembering a couple of missions I'd been on with the League. "This is what sucks about the vigilante thing," I muttered. "Saving the world has to come first sometimes. No matter how much you want to drop everything and rescue your friend- not that I'd consider Isaac a friend, but maybe you do- it's a choice between that and letting the world go up in flames. And you know what you have to do, but it still sucks."

Peter laughed quietly, and I turned to look at him in utter confusion. "What's funny?" I asked.

He bit back his grin. "It's just... you talk about this so matter-of-factly. Most of the time I forget that you've been doing this most of your life, and then you turn around and start talking about it like it's completely commonplace. You've got a unique perspective on this. All the sides nobody ever thinks about..."

"What, you mean the fact that I know about the stuff that gets left out of the movies?" I asked. "That's true. There is never a more awkward moment than _right after _the world gets saved. You've been caught up in all the emotion and sacrifice, and then it's all over, and you feel like somebody should have a great dramatic speech prepared, and then... everybody just kind of stares at each other for awhile. And then somebody says, "So... what now?" It's inevitable. But I think I said this before."

He laughed again. "Yeah, I think you have. Twice."

I cocked my head to one side. "So I repeat myself. A lot. Whatever." He rolled his eyes, still chuckling. "Look, once we get back from Texas, we can figure out where Eden is and try to track down Isaac through her. That's about the best we can do, without more information."

Peter agreed, and we spent the rest of the trip engrossed in our own planning.

--

When we reached the loft, I realized that the door had been left standing open, and pushed ahead of Peter into the room, fully expecting to see burglars, or else hired goons. Instead, I found Simone standing in the middle of the apartment, staring around with a lost expression on her face.

She turned around, dazed, as we entered. "Isaac's gone," she said vaguely. "Have you seen him?"

I glanced at Peter, gauging his reaction to seeing her, but his face remained fairly neutral. His perennial expression of gentle concern was there, but that would have been there regardless of who it was we'd found. "Isaac was... abducted," I said, and her startling green eyes widened in shock. "We might have a lead on tracking him down. He left us something to do, but as soon as we get that finished with, we're going to try to find him."

Simone sat down on the metal stairs, shaking her head. "I can't believe it. Who... who would want to take Isaac? He was harmless."

"I don't know, but she sure as hell wanted me dead," I said. "Her name is Eden, and that's about all we know about her. But she tried to kill me about five minutes before she came here."

The other woman pressed a hand to her mouth. "What's going on?" she begged, looking to us for answers.

"We're not sure," Peter said soothingly. "We're trying to find out." Simone nodded, clearly trying to pull herself together, but tears still welled up in her eyes.

"God," she whispered. "Why does this have to happen now? Right after my father--" She broke off, apparently unable to go on.

"Oh. Is Charles... has he--?" Peter asked, his eyes tightening. Simone nodded. "That's so weird," I heard him whisper to himself. I made a mental note to ask him what he'd meant later.

Meanwhile, Simone rose to her feet again, shaking her head as if to drive out unpleasant thoughts. "Yeah," she said. "He passed this morning. It was so strange He's been completely unconscious for two weeks, but suddenly he woke up, totally lucid, and said that he'd had a dream. He said he'd been all over the world, and all he saw was pain and sadness. But then you appeared, and said that it was alright, there were still people who cared, that you were going to save the world. Then he smiled, and said it was time for him to go. His last words were--"

"In the end, all that matters is love," Peter whispered quietly, awe in his voice.

Simone's eyes widened. "_Yes_," she said, just as softly. "How did you know?" He shrugged. I stared between the two of them, completely confused. I'd seen a couple of pictures in Peter's apartment of him and a widely grinning black man who could only have been Simone's father, but I hadn't been under the impression that they were close enough that Peter would have been able to guess at the man's last words. Unless I was very much mistaken, something of the _woo-woo_ variety was going on here.

There was a brief silence in the apartment as Peter and Simone met each other's eyes in surprise and wonderment, before I broke the moment. "Um, Peter?" I said awkwardly, "We need to do what we came here to do if we're going to make it to the airport again."

At the sound of my voice, Peter whipped around, and I swear I saw an almost guilty look in his eyes as his gaze snapped to mine. But it was gone faster than I could register it, so I really wasn't sure.

"Right," he said. "The paintings. Simone, do you mind if we look at some of the stuff Isaac's done over the last couple of months? They might be helpful where we're going."

The woman nodded, wiping at her eyes but looking much better than she had when we'd entered the room. "Sure. Go ahead."

Immediately, Peter and I hastened to the corner of the room where most of Isaac's paintings were kept. I lifted a stack of several stretched canvases out of their shelves and spread the whole set out on the ground. To my surprise, I seemed to have hit on exactly what I was looking for. Six paintings lay on the ground before us, and every one showed either Peter or myself, or both.

The first, a very tiny one not much larger than a computer monitor, depicted my face, nearly perfect in every detail, wraught with terror. Nothing could be seen but my own visage and the mass of dark curls surrounding it, but the whole image was lit up by an eerie orange glow from somewhere beyond the painting's edges. Another one, seeming to match the first, was nearly the same, but of Peter's face. The same deadly glow lit his image, but it seemed to come from a different angle, because the shadows were cast upward.

The third painting was a large one, another one featuring yours truly. I was seen only in profile, my wrist pressed against the throat of a man barely visible around me and murder in my visible eye. The only feature of his face I could make out was a pair of horn-rimmed glasses that glinted brightly in some reflected light. A short, blonde-haired girl was tugging at my shoulder, trying to pull me away, but I knew that whoever she was, what she did would do no good.

"Well _that's_ ominous," I said. "Wonder how the poor sucker's gonna piss me off." Peter laughed deep in his throat.

I turned to the next image. Peter spoke to a tall Japanese man in what appeared to be a family diner. I assumed that this was probably either Hiro or his traveling companion. The look in Peter's eyes was grim, and I recognized the stubborn set of his jaw. The man with him looked equally distressed, but the edge of fear that was in his eyes was completely absent from Peter's. I couldn't find any hint of myself in the picture, and wondered where I could possibly be. _Don't worry Dianne,_ whispered my rational mind, _you don't have to be with Peter every second of his life. It's nothing to be worried about._

But I couldn't quite dismiss the edge of concern that crept into my mind at the omittance. To distract myself, I glanced at the fifth painting.

It was a portrait of Peter from the torso up, larger than life. A jagged line of fire snaked its way across the image, cutting directly through the center of his face. On one side was the Peter I knew, the Peter I'd seen practically every day for the last month and a half of my life. Long dark bangs fell across a warm brown eye, and I could see that he was wearing scrubs. On the other side, it was still Peter Petrelli, but this man was foreign to me. A scar slashed across his face, and his hair was slicked back. The eye on this half of the painting was hard and closed off. Stonewall. Across the bottom of the painting was scrawled, in Isaac's spiky hand, "Time does not heal **all**wounds."

"Okay," I said, gesturing first to the painting of myself and Horn-Rimmed-Glasses-Man and then to this portrait of Peter, "I lied. That's not ominous, _this _one is. What do you suppose is going to _happen_ to you that you'd become... like that?"

He shook his head. "I don't know."

Trying desperately to alleviate the tension that weighed down on us, I said jokingly, "Well, it is you after all. Shouldn't you know what would drive you to being so cold?"

Far from removing the strain of the moment, my question seemed to increase it as Peter's face shut down. "I can only think of one thing, and that's _not_ going to happen," he said, staring so intensely at the canvas that I almost felt he would set it afire.

"Right," I said, turning to the final painting. It didn't make any sense with the rest of them- not that any of Isaac's paintings seemed to make sense until right after they happened. Peter and I sat together on a twin bed in a room I didn't recognize, talking intently. He held a bloodstained shard of glass in his hand. "Yeesh, looks like you stabbed somebody doesn't it?" I muttered.

He laughed, but it was forced. I glanced at him. "Hey, are you okay?" I asked.

Peter nodded. "Yeah, I just don't really like the way the future looks."

I smiled ruefully. "The future _never_ looks good, Pete. You just have to keep on going and kick some serious ass and everything falls into place eventually. Usually. Most of the time." I turned around and found Simone watching us. "Look," I said to her, "We have to go. There's a flight to Texas leaving in a few hours that we have to catch if we want to save the cheerleader. But when we get back, I promise we'll do everything we can to find Isaac, alright?"

She nodded. "Thank you, Dianne. Do you think I should call the police?"

"Any other day, I'd say _no freaking duh_ you should call the police, but honestly, I'm seeing 'conspiracy theory' stamped all over whatever's going on. The cops would just say you've gone soft in the head or something." She nodded, and we took our leave of the paint-smeared loft.

--

**A Note From Lara: I'd had several requests to see more of Isaac's paintings of Peter and Dianne, and since I had a big time gap to fill here, I figured "what better use of their free hours than to go and examine Isaac's stuff for clues?" So... yeah...**

**If you don't review, even to tell me this chapter makes no sense, I'm going to be severely put out.**

**(and massive virtual cookies to anybody who got that reference)**


	29. When An Empath Falls In Love

**A Note From Lara: Okay, so I was originally going to call this chapter "What Happens When An Empath Falls In Love?" but stupid FF won't let me put that long of a chapter title in, so you're going to have to live with the shortened version in the title bar.**

**I have a new ship. Aside from PetAnne, it is my absolute favorite. I love it even more than Paire, which up until now was my Official Heroes Ship. This new pairing is Daphne/Peter. As far as I know, I'm the first Daphter (thanks to Aly for the ship name, btw) shipper, but I've managed to convert my friend, Airin0 (who is working on writing some excellent crack to be posted here in a couple of days) to it, and she's committed very enthusiastically. I'm currently writing the first chapter of my first non-oneshot Daphter fic, and it should be up by Thursday if I don't have epic writer's block. Anyway.**

**I'm pretty sure I had epic fail on the spelling of the Japanese word Ando uses in this chapter. It's the "boogeyman" thing, and I couldn't find a spelling on the internet, so I just tried to spell it phonetically. Figured I'd better apologize for that right off the bat. Ooh, very long and random A/N. Sorry about that.**

**(Mohinder-style Voiceover:) Fellow PetAnne shippers be joyful, for this is a very good chapter for you.**

--

I groaned, throwing my head back against the bench in frustration. It had been a very long night of sitting and waiting for our flight to begin boarding. Apparently some bad weather in our flight path had delayed takeoff. For nine hours. It was now three minutes before noon, and we were waiting for a flight that should have departed at three a.m. If we didn't get in the air soon, Cheerleader was going to be dead and the world was screwed. "Goddammit, can't they just fly _around_ the freaking tornadoes?" I hissed under my breath. Peter laughed, and I realized that he'd finally woken up. He'd been asleep since shortly after three.

So far, the only silver lining I could see was that security hadn't noticed anything unusual about my duffel bag when I put it through the X-ray machine. The number of deadly weapons in that thing was _amazing_. But the scrambler I had stored in the outside pocket- another bit of tech pinched from Bruce- had held, and an assortment of knives, climbing devices and grappling hooks, minor explosives, and a pair of high-powered tasers sat in my bag on the seat beside me.

"Don't they know that we've got eight hours to keep New York from going nuclear?"

Peter smiled wryly. "You know, I really don't think they do."

I crossed my arms, puffing out a breath to blow away the long strands of dark hair that had fallen into my eyes. "Well somebody should inform them," I muttered. "Thank god the flight probably won't last more than a five hours at most. If we were to leave- oh, say... _now!_- we'd be past security on the other side by six. That would give us plenty of time. Unless... where did you say we're landing?"

"Midland, Texas. That's where Hiro and Ando are waiting for us."

"How far away from Odessa is that?"

Peter checked the map I'd printed through Google. "About an hour by car."

I nodded. "Okay, so we get to Odessa by sevenish. That would give us an hour until... well, until Isaac's painting."

"Excuse me," interrupted a well-dressed black man sitting across the aisle from us. "Did you say you're headed for Odessa, Texas?"

Hearing the words, the name of the town, in someone else's voice sparked off something in my memory, and I was temporarily deprived of the power of speech as my brain set to drawing all the connections I'd been unable to see before. "Yeah," Peter said. "We're going to visit friends." I nodded sycophantically, thankful that he, at least, was still able to form a coherent sentence.

The man smiled. "I grew up in Odessa. Lovely city, isn't it?" Peter nodded. "The name's Canfield. Stephen Canfield."

"Peter Petrelli."

The two men shook hands, and then Canfield turned to me. Quickly, I pulled myself together and managed to sputter out, "I'm Dianne. Dianne Morten." As I took the man's proferred hand, I peered into his eyes, trying to read as much about this stranger as possible. It was probably just that the revelations I'd come across still had me reeling, but I was suddenly suspicious of anyone who initiated contact with us for less than obvious reasons. All I could determine about Stephen Canfield was that he had recently suffered a terrible loss. I recognized the look, when something terrible happens to someone you care about. I'd seen it too often not to.

I was about to say something about it when an impersonal voice came over the loudspeaker. "Flight 209 from JFK to Midland, now boarding. All passengers in group A, please begin boarding."

"Well, that's me," Canfield said. "It was nice speaking to you."

The typical niceties were exchanged, and he picked up his suitcase and hurried to the line of people waiting to board.

The second he was out of earshot, I whipped around to face Peter. "We're going to Odessa, Texas," I said.

"Um... yes. We already went over this, remember?"

I shook my head. "No, you don't understand. I _knew_ I'd heard the name before somewhere, but I figured I was just thinking of the Ukraine. But when he said it... Listen to me, this is important. Three million dollars of my parents money, everything they had- _everything_- was invested in a paper company called Primatech. In Odessa, Texas. I did some research on the company right after I got back to this universe, mostly trying to find out if I could get to my parents' investment. Anyway, it turns out that _Daniel Linderman_ owns huge shares in the company. Linderman, who signed both of my parents paychecks. Linderman, who apparently had your father in his pocket as well. Linderman, who is now making _daily _phone calls to your brother."

Peter's eyes were huge as I finished talking. "I thought this stank of conspiracy before, and now..." I trailed away, leaving him to draw his own conclusions. "Something's going on here. Someone wants something, and it's all tied up in Odessa, Texas."

Inspiration suddenly struck me, and I reached into my bag, taking care not to let the nearby security guard see the contraband inside. Once I had maneuvered my way to the inside pocket, I pulled out my cell phone. "I _love_ 3G," I said, not glancing up from the screen. "It's not something we had in Gotham. This'll be harder to do on a cell phone, but we'll see if maybe..." Several minutes later, I'd found my way around all the firewalls I needed to bypass. "Now," I muttered, "Let's see if we can GPS Prettybird again. I bet you anything she's in Texas. I-- _Yes!_ She's right there! Odessa. Somewhere on the outskirts of town. Looks like we've got some one-stop shopping to do."

I glanced up from the screen to see Peter staring at me, a look of wonder on his face. "What?" I demanded.

"You must have been _amazing_ at connect-the-dots as a kid," he said.

I winked at him, grinning. "Don't you know it," I said. Then the woman on the intercom called the next round of passengers, and the conversation slowed to a halt as we joined the queue at the final checkpoint before we boarded the plane.

--

Amazingly, things had gone according to plan. They had gotten past airport security at the Midland airport by six o'clock, and hailed a cab. Dianne hadn't slept in over forty-eight hours, as far as Peter was aware, and was swaying on her feet by the time they clambered into the back seat of the taxi. It was only a 20 minute trip to the cafe where they were to meet Hiro and Ando, but she was asleep before they had traveled two blocks.

Peter glanced sideways at her, before gently putting his arm around her. When she'd fallen asleep a few minutes before, her head had found its way to his shoulder, and her mass of curls had fallen across her face. A small smile crossed his face as he watched her. He brushed a strand of dark hair out of her eyes, marvelling as he did so. It was nearly impossible to believe that someone as fiery as Dianne could ever appear so serene. The difference was startling, but it only served to make her even more beautiful...

The smile dropped from his lips as he followed that train of thought to its inevitable conclusion. He'd traced the same route constantly for two days, and it always wound up with him royally screwed.

It had started with Eden's first attempt on Dianne's life the day before yesterday. He'd seen her falling, and suddenly all the locked doors in his head had flown open, and _he_ had flown. He had wondered about that at first; how was it that he could suddenly access his powers, even though he was never able to do anything away from the power's original bearer?

Peter had batted the question around and around, until he'd thwarted Eden's second attempt to kill Dianne at Isaac's loft. The fact that she had immediately begun berating him for it didn't matter. After calling out his power for the second time that day, he arrived at the only logical answer: It was because _Dianne's_ life was in danger.

Dianne, who had somehow become his closest friend and confidante in a matter of weeks. Dianne, who insisted that chocolate and sour cream made a good combination. Dianne, the girl who would throw herself off a building for her friends. Dianne, who was so strong and so fragile all at once, but who would never admit weakness if her life depended on it. Dianne, who had once argued for two hours with him on the subject of "if God were food, what would He taste like?" Dianne, who believed she could do anything, and moreover thought that _he_ could, too. Dianne, the pragmatist with a heart of gold he doubted most people saw.

Dianne, whom he was pretty sure he was in love with.

And who, most assuredly, did not feel the same way about him. Her reaction to Dennison's article proved that much. He was just the best friend to her, nothing more. Although he had never told anyone, not even Nathan with whom he shared everything, it had been Peter's greatest desire since he was just a teenager to be in love. _ Really_ in love. And now he was, but with someone who probably would never see him that way.

The ordered, rational part of his mind kept trying to make sense of it all, saying that it was too sudden, too fast, and what about Simone? But Peter had never really been rational. Peter had always loved quickly and easily. His brother- and probably his parents as well- saw it as a weakness, but that was just the way he was. And as for Simone... well, that argument had been put to the test last night, when they had encountered the woman at her boyfriend's loft.

He had expected... something. That awkward sensation of falling he'd always felt in her presence before. A sense of joy. Heart palpitations... something. But instead he had simply felt happy to see her, the way he was happy to see Tanya or any of his other friends. She was just Simone. Smart, beautiful, exotic but... not Dianne. Moreover, she was Isaac's. Peter knew that Simone was the only thing that kept the painter together. Or would be, once they rescued him from Eden and the mysterious "Mr. Bennet."

The corners of Dianne's lips twitched upward. Peter wondered what she was dreaming about. If she was smiling, it certainly wasn't one of her nightmares. He shuddered slightly, even thinking about the dream he'd witnessed. How had she survived for nine years with that in her head? And why had she never even told anyone? But that was an easily answered question. Dianne saw her nightmares as weakness, and her own problem to deal with. She didn't want anyone to know that she couldn't let go of what had happened to her, and she didn't want to burden anyone else with her problems. She had no idea that the people closest to her would never have thought less of her. Dianne was steel, solid as a rock, but sometimes steel did bend. She just would never let anyone see. Even he, her best friend, had only discovered the night terrors by accident.

She stirred in her sleep, unconsciously snuggling closer to him. Allowing himself one blissful moment, now when Dianne would never know, he planted a soft kiss on the top of her head.

Then he sighed. It was official: he was in love with the one woman he'd probably never be able to be with. Quite aside from the fact that she didn't feel that way about him, he'd probably never work up the nerve to tell her. She was his best friend, and despite her superhuman ability to skim right past the most awkward of moments, that was the kind of elephant in the room that _nobody_ could ignore.

And what if they didn't ignore it, if they gave it a shot and it didn't work? How would they get past that? It would completely ruin their friendshp, and Peter didn't know if he could bear that.

Another thought occurred to Peter. The evening before, when Dianne had asked him what could possibly make him become the darker version of himself Isaac had portrayed, he had avoided giving a definite answer, because he knew _exactly_ what would drive him to that. Because there was something else he couldn't bear, something far worse than losing Dianne's friendship. Losing more than just her friendship, but the woman herself... Peter knew it would drive him past the edge of sanity.

He was supposed to end up dead in the future Isaac painted. That, he could deal with. But if there was any chance that Dianne would end up the same way...

Peter set his jaw, staring straight ahead unseeing, as he came to a decision. He couldn't let anything happen to her. He had to keep her safe.

--

"Dianne? Dianne, wake up. We're here."

Peter's voice reached into my dream, drawing me awake as surely as the gentle shake he gave me did. I opened my eyes blearily, and found myself pressed as close to him as I could manage in the confined space of the taxi. "Are we there already?" I muttered, pulling away. He nodded, trying and failing to bite back a smile. "What's so funny?" I asked suspiciously.

"Nothing," he said, a little too innocently.

I raised an eyebrow, but let it pass. Now was not the time. There was too much riding on the outcome of tonight to waste time on frivolities. Right now, we both needed to focus.

We entered the Burnt Toast Cafe, and I was unnerved to realize that it was the exact diner that had been depicted in the painting of Peter and Hiro (Ando? I wasn't sure) we had found at Isaac's the night before. "Ando?" Peter called to the diner's only customer.

"Peter Petrelli!" the man exclaimed in a lightly accented voice.

Peter nodded. "And this is my friend Dianne," he replied. "I'm so sorry, it took us forever to get off the ground, and then the taxis in this town--"

"Where's Hiro?" I interrupted.

Ando sighed, looking sheepish, then lead us over to a collage of photos on top of a shelf at the back of the cafe. "Hiro teleported back in time to save her," he said, pointing to a picture of a bespectacled Japanese man and a beautiful redhead, both of whom were wearing birthday hats. "Charlie was killed. Hiro thinks maybe it is the same man who is going to attack the cheerleader. I tell him that do-over is too risky, but he went anyway. It happened so fast... she was dead, and the killer was gone like _hokaji_."

Peter looked at him in confusion. "Boogeyman," I translated. "More or less."

"You speak Japanese?" Ando asked in surprise.

I shook my head. "Nah. I spent two months in Tokyo on a stakeout and picked up a couple of phrases. That just happens to be one of them." I spotted my reflection in a mirror that was part of the memorial for Charlie, and realized why Peter had been smirking earlier. I had the imprint of the seams of Peter's jacket pressed into my cheek. "If you'll excuse me for a minute," I said, "If we're going to be saving the world tonight, I'd rather not do it with khaki-burn all over my face."

I ducked into the small rest room in the back of the cafe, and scrubbed at my face with a wad of damp paper towels until the marks went away. With a cheek as bright red as if I'd been decked in the face, I emerged from the bathroom, to find that I was alone in the cafe with Ando.

"Where's Peter?"

--

**Ooh, ominous! We're closing in on Homecoming! Now review, or you aren't getting a new chapter until after my birthday. And I know how many people have me on their Story Alerts, and I know who all my usual reviewers are. The figures do not add up. So I'm hoping for some new faces in the review list this chapter. Well... metaphorically, since I can't see your face.**

**Whatever. Just review, okay?**


	30. Homecoming

**A Note From Lara: I've spent this whole fic just "working up to Homecoming." Well, now we're here, and I like it that it falls on a very nice rounded chapter number. Chapter 30. It's nice. But I'm just weird about numbers that way. Something you may want to know: the POV randomly changes around within scenes a lot here. I don't know why, but just for the sake of logicstics, work with it.**

--

_Five Minutes Ago..._

As Dianne disappeared behind the bathroom door, Peter drew forth the photo of Isaac's painting. "Is this... you?" Ando asked, inspecting it.

Peter shrugged. "I don't know. Look, I have to go. Now. Are you coming?"

Ando shook his head. "I will wait for Hiro. Without him, I am not much of anything. Peter... perhaps you should wait too."

"There's no time. I have to save the Cheerleader. And I have to go now, while Dianne's distracted. I can't take her with me," Peter said, throwing his bag over his shoulder. "I know that if I get into trouble, she's going to throw herself in after me, and I won't let her take my place in this picture. If you're staying here... will you try and delay her as long as possible?"

Ando nodded. "I will do what I can."

Peter smiled grimly. "Thank you, Ando. That means more than you can possibly know. I have to keep her safe. _Have_ to. Oh, and Ando... don't try to physically stop her. Unless you've got some kind of crazy martial arts moves up your sleeves, you'll really regret it." He chuckled to himself. "Trust me, I've seen her in action. It's scary." He turned and made for the door.

"But Peter," Ando said, causing him to turn around. "You die."

The other man shrugged. "Better me than her," he said, and walked out into the night.

--

_Now..._

I felt rage boil up in me as Ando finished his explanation of where Peter had gone. "That idiot!" I exclaimed. "What is he thinking?"

"He's trying to save your life," Ando pacified. But I was having none of it.

"He may be trying to save my life, but he's _going_ to get himself killed!" I saiid, throwing my hands up over my head. "He can't control his powers, and he can't fight worth crap. He needs my help on this and he knows it! And he _knows_ this is personal for me! You said that Charlie was killed by getting the top of her head sliced off, right? That was how my friend Sam died. And if it's the same killer going after the Cheerleader, I have a score to settle. I'm going after him. Now."

Ando stepped in front of me, preventing me from going out the door. "He told me to delay you here," he said.

I crossed my arms. "This is not the time to get in my way, Ando," I said. "I only just met you, and you seem like a nice guy, but I swear to god I will not hesitate to break your nose right now."

The time-traveler's companion wisely chose to step out of my way, and I plunged out into the darkness to find a ride.

--

Peter examined the display in the trophy case. Jacky Wilcox... was this the girl he was here to save? She seemed to fit the bill; pretty, with long blonde hair and green eyes, and definitely courageous. In addition to being a cheerleader, she was the town hero it seemed. She'd run into a burning train car to save a man's life. Exactly the sort of girl he'd expect to help him save the world.

As he stepped back from the display, he bumped into someone. "Sorry!" he exclaimed, picking up the girl's bag. As he met her eyes, he was startled by the viviaciousness he found in their green depths. He handed her the bag. "Thanks," she said, smiling.

She turned to walk away, but he called after her, "Wait, do you know this girl? Jacky Wilcox?"

"Yeah. Um, halftime show's in about five minutes. She'll be out on the field. She's a cheerleader," the girl said, with a knowing smile. "Are you a reporter or something?"

"Alumni. Just curious."

The girl gazed past the glass, looking at the newspapers articles plastered all over the inside of the case. "You know," she said conspiratorily, "she's not really anything special."

"She ran into a burning train car and saved a man's life," Peter said. "Sounds kinda special to me." But even as the words left him, he had the sense that this teenager with the sad little smile had just given him some very important secret. He was just too inept to tell what it was she had said to him. But all the same, he was honored to know that this girl had chosen him to confide... whatever it was... to.

She laughed once, bitterly. "Yeah. I guess you're right. She's our town hero. Me, I don't win too many popularity contests." With a final glance at him, she walked off in the direction of the locker rooms, her duffel bag slung over her shoulder.

He felt almost compelled to call after her. "It gets better. Life after high school... it gets a lot better." She smiled again, and nodded, before turning and disappearing around the corner.

--

Under normal conditions, I would _never_ recommend hitchhiking. You meet some seriously creepy freakazoids, especially after dark. But the situation was desperate. Apparently cabbies outside of the greater metropolitan areas didn't understand that the speed limit was a _suggestion_, and speed was absolutely necessary at the moment.

I'd been picked up by a couple of teenage girls who were planning on crashing the homecoming celebrations in Odessa. I told the driver, a tall and strikingly beautiful Asian girl, that I'd give her fifty bucks if she got me to the school before eight o'clock. It didn't look like we were going to make it though, and I was being subjected to the not-so-dulcet tones of Lindsay Lohan blasting through the radio, with four off-key voices screaming along.

"Look," I interrupted, turning to the driver, whose name I thought was Mia. "Can you go any faster than this? Like, say, seventy or eighty? It's really, really important that I get there fast."

"Do you _want_ me to get a ticket?" she demanded. "I'm going as fast as I can. Just be grateful I gave you a ride. I could get in _soooo _much trouble for this." I rubbed my temples, turning away from her to gaze at the moonless desert night racing past beyond the window. I pressed my forehead to the cool glass, and prayed. I wasn't completely sure who I was praying to, but I did it anyway. A terror I didn't understand had suddenly taken up residence in the pit of my stomach, and my heart was contracting painfully.

Peter thought he was saving me. He was trying to protect me by leaving me behind. But that was exactly what I would have expected him to do. That was what the future was based on- what we ordinarily would do, our usual reactions. To change the future, didn't we have to change the way we reacted to things? A sickening image of Isaac's painting flashed before my eyes, and I fought the urge to push Mia out the door and take the wheel myself. We'd get there in time. We had to.

--

"We need to talk. Co-captain to co-captain," Jacky said. She whipped around to face Claire, her blonde hair swirling around her shoulders. "I think you're a menace. And I'm not just talking about you punching me over your boyfriend the girlfriend. I mean you in general. We used to be BFFs. What happened?"

"Maybe I've gained some perspective," Claire said coolly. "A friend once told me it was more important to be comfortable with myself and happy than popular. I think he was right."

Jacky smirked. "Yeah, well, sounds like a loser to me."

"I'm tired of trying to be someone I'm not," Claire said firmly.

"Yeah, you've been trying to be me since second grade."

"And now _you're_ trying to be _me_."

Jacky laughed. "How do you figure?"

Claire rose to her feet, getting as close to Jacky's face as her diminuitive height would allow. "Your little heroic act of pulling the man out of the burning train car?" she said mockingly, "It wasn't your heroic act, it was _mine_."

"No it wasn't!"

Then Claire pulled out her ace in the hole. "I have it on tape." She watched with smug satisfaction as Jacky's spine stiffened in shock, and all her color drained away beneath the thick layer of makeup. And then the lights went out. A thrill of fear ran through Claire, and she pulled Jacky away from the nearest door, guiding her instead toward the door farther away from their destination. "Don't go that way," she whispered. "Something's not right."

"Damn right something's not right!" Jacky said. Claire was hardly listening, instead focusing on her slow progress across the locker room, as she peered around the next row of lockers, looking for the source of the roiling panic in her gut. "We're missing the coronation. If you don't want to go out there and get that crown, I'm _more_ than happy to-" And then Jacky broke off with a startled yelp as she was yanked out of sight.

The black-coated man who held her in place without even touching her raised a hand, and the Claire launched herself at him. "Let her go!" she screamed, clawing at his face from behind. With a gesture, she was flung against the wall.

Jacky whimpered in panic as she saw her co-captain's body shatter against the cinderblock. And then she was distracted by the pain, as the man raised his hand once again, and- still without laying a hand on her- sliced through her skull. Blood ran down her face, and a line of fire was being traced across her forehead. Oh god, it hurt like nothing she'd ever felt.... and then, as she blinked away the rivulet of blood, she saw something impossible. Claire rose to her feet, snapping a horribly broken arm back into place, and her broken face repaired itself, all the skin knitting back together. So this was what had changed with her one-time friend, Jacky thought, a strange distance separating her from the situation. She was... special. Immortal. A freak. "Run..." Jacky whispered. And the man holding her turned. Saw Claire healing. And dropped her. As her head rebounded off the concrete, Jacky's last thought was about Claire. She hoped Claire obeyed her command, because this sucked.

--

Peter glanced up at the big clock. It was the same one in Isaac's painting. He was going to die right here, in approximately two and a half minutes. He glanced around, looking for the shadowy figure depicted in the Cheerleader series. A shrill scream rent the air, and he ran back inside the building. This was it. This was the zero hour when they determined the future.

A girl in a cheerleading uniform came pelting out of the locker room, drenched in blood, but without a scratch on her. "Are you okay?" he asked. With a shock, he realized that it was the girl he had spoken to earlier. She was a cheerleader, too. It wasn't Jacky Wilcox. The town hero wasn't the one he was here to save. It was the beautiful girl with the sad little smile and the secret she hadn't fully revealed to him. She shot a horrified glance over his shoulder, and he turned around to see a tall figure exiting the locker room.

"Go. Run!" he shouted at her, pointing down the hallway. She fled, and he stood there, facing the man, waiting for whatever he had to throw at them. There was a rattling sound, and suddenly a group of locker doors came flying from a nearby hallway, slamming into him. Peter turned and ran, hoping he had bought the Cheerleader enough time.

He hadn't, he saw, as he emerged into the colliseum area. She had tripped and fallen on one of the lower steps. Peter raced to her, helping her to her feet. "Come on!" he exclaimed, half-dragging her up the steps to the very top. "Go. Run. Get to the stadium. Find lights, find people, he doesn't want to be seen," he panted.

"But what about you?" she asked, her terror-struck eyes begging him to come with her.

"Don't worry about me. Just go. Go!" he yelled, when she hesitated. She went.

Peter turned, and suddenly found himself face-to-face with the nightmare figure. He just had time to catch a glimpse of the man's face. Then he seized him, trying to push him off the edge just behind him, anything to keep him from getting to the Cheerleader. But the man seized a handful of his jacket and dragged him over with him.

The fall seemed to last forever, but after what felt like an eternity, they landed, with Peter taking the brunt of the impact. As he felt all his bones shatter against the concrete, as pain seared through him, an image of Dianne's face flashed through his mind. And then everything disappeared in an instant of darkness from which he did not awaken. The clock read eight-twelve.

And at eight-thirteen, the colliseum doors opened, and Claire Bennet emerged. The one who had killed Jacky was long gone. As her eyes rested on the broken body of her saviour, tears sprang immediately to her eyes. She rushed to his side and knelt next to him, wondering what to do, what would happen now.

All at once, the man sat up, drawing in a gasping breath. Claire jerked back in shock. _It was impossible! _ The gashes on the side of his face that had hit the pavement sealed, and he twisted awkwardly, snapping his spine back into place.

"How... how did you--?" she gasped.

He shook his head, panting with the exertion of trying to reset his own bones. "Where is he?" he asked. They both knew who he was asking about.

She shook her head. "I don't know," she said, breathing hard herself. "He ran away before I could get here."

Pushing a rib back into place, he said, "Um... police. Go find some help, okay?"

Claire nodded, and rose to her feet. But before she had gone more than a few steps, she remembered something, and turned around. "Hey," she said, "what's your name?"

"Peter," he said breathlessly.

"I'm Claire."

"Are you the one?" he asked. "By saving you, did I... did I save the world?"

Claire shook her head. She had no idea what this strange man who had saved her life was talking about. "I don't know," she whispered. "I'm just a cheerleader." She ran away then, going to find help, leaving him to finish twisting his leg back into place.

Peter laughed to himself, feeling slightly hysterical. He glanced at the clock, noting the time . "That's the problem with Isaac's paintings," he said, mostly to himself. "They don't tell the whole story." One of his ankles snapped back into place, and he wondered vaguely where he had picked up this healing power from.

--

**A Note From Lara: I don't really think I did it justice. Homecoming was just so powerful (second only to HTSAEM and FYG, as far as I'm concerned). I don't think I really managed to convey this. But that's up to you to decide, I guess.**


	31. Connecting Heroes

**A Note From Lara: Wee! I have no A/N, but I feel really weird posting without one!**

--

I opened the car door before Mia had even pulled to a stop, and hit the pavement already running. I pelted toward the school, not caring about the fact that I owed Mia fifty dollars. I spotted flashing lights by the sports complex, and pushed my legs faster. Oh god, the police were already here. I was too late, and either the Cheerleader was saved, or we'd failed... and Peter might already be... There was no way I was going to finish that thought. It was just too impossible to contemplate. The world wasn't _right_ without Peter in it.

But things were grim, and growing darker by the moment. As I panted up to the front of the sports complex, I found it surrounded by that hated yellow crime-scene tape and police cars. "What happened?" I demanded of a younger officer who was directing ogglers away from the scene.

"I'm not supposed to release that information to the public just yet," he said. Good. He was new at this, if he was saying "supposed to." I could work this.

"Don't you know who I am?" I said imperiously. "I'm Diana Li! I report for the _Austin Chronicle_! You can give me just one teeny little leak, so I can make tomorrow's morning edition, can't you? I promise I won't tell anybody who my source is." I gave him as sweet a smile as I could manage with my heart trying to beat its way out of my throat.

He bit his lip, then said slowly, "Okay. My name never comes into it though, okay?"

I nodded, and he stepped aside... to reveal a huge smear of blood right where Isaac had sketched Peter's dead body. "Oh my god," I whispered. "What _happened_?" Terror was pulsing through my blood as I realized that if the blood was there, Peter had almost certainly fallen. And if he'd lost that much blood...

"Well, this cheerleader got attacked in the locker rooms, right? And she got killed; her skull was sliced half-off," the policeman said, sounding both excited and nauseated. We'd failed, then. We couldn't save the Cheerleader. But what about Peter? I had to know. He _had_ to be okay. "We think we got the guy, though. We found him sitting right there in that big pool of blood over there."

That didn't seem right. "Do you have a name on him?" I asked, suddenly able to draw breath again.

He nodded. "Yeah. I... probably shouldn't tell you that, though..."

"Oh come on. I have to have a suspect, or there's no article!"

The officer paused, then nodded. "Okay. The guy's name is Peter Petrelli. We've got him in county lockup downtown right now."

I could actually feel my pulse rate drop at the news that he was somehow miraculously alive. But the fact that he seemed to have failed to save the Cheerleader was troubling. And considering he was the number one suspect in a murder investigation, I was seriously worried. But he'd be okay. He hadn't done anything, of that I was absolutely sure, and between Nathan and I, we'd have him out of jail in no time.

"Thanks," I said, dropping the bossy reporter persona as the relief seeped through me and turned all my muscles to water. He gave me a strange look, but I was already hurrying away. I had to get to the police station. I _had _to see Peter.

--

_Five Hours Later..._

Or not. Apparently, if you're not a reasonably well-known local vigilante, you don't get in to see murder suspects. I tried to bluff my way in, pretending to be one of the lawerys Nathan already had crawling all over the place. Maybe it was just me, but I thought that six attorneys and a paralegal was a _bit _much for one little misunderstanding with the law. But they didn't buy my disguise, and refused to let me see him. I couldn't even convince them to take a message to him.

Out of sheer frustration, I did the only thing I could think of- I returned to the high school. As dawn broke over the scene of the cheerleader's demise, I walked around, trying to match the place to Isaac's images in my mind. The colliseum, the locker rooms- both crawling with police officers and CSI types. And then, after some thirty minutes of walking around aimlessly, I recalled another of Isaac's drawings- two Japanese men standing before a blood-spattered homecoming banner. Hiro and Ando must be about to arrive here!

I hurried around the building until I found the banner hanging above a side door. And just as I had hoped, Ando and his short, bespectacled companion were standing beneath it. "Ando!" I called.

The man turned around to face me. "Dianne!" he said excitedly. "Hiro! It's Dianne."

Hiro nodded to me. I gave him a cursory smile before turning to Ando. "No hard feelings about stiff-arming you last night, right?"

Ando grinned hesitantly. "No. I understand. You only wanted to make sure that Peter Petrelli would be safe. Where is he?"

"In jail," I sighed, running my hands through my hair in frustration. "He survived whatever happened last night, but apparently the police found him at the scene and mistook him for the Brain Man. Speaking of which, I think I might have a name to put to this guy. It's only a rumor I picked up, but he may call himself Sylar."

"Sylar?" Hiro rolled the name around his tongue, testing it, I assumed, for proper villainousness. "We must stop him!"

I nodded. "You're telling me! But we have to wait until Nathan lawyers Peter out of jail. Nathan Petrelli-" I said in response to the men's confused looks, "-is Peter's older brother."

"Nathan Petrelli!" Hiro exclaimed. "Flying Man!"

"Yeah. Nathan can fly," I said slowly. "You know him?"

Hiro grinned widely. "We met flying man in Las Vegas. Three days ago."

Yes, that made sense. Nathan had been in Vegas three days ago, and he'd gone missing for several hours sometime during the morning... Who knew he'd run into our time-travelling compatriot? "Small world," I commented dryly. "Anyway, once Peter is free, we have to go find Isaac Mendez. The artist, you know? He's gone missing. Abducted, actually. And the woman who took him is somewhere in Odessa right now."

At that moment, Hiro's cell phone rang. "Hello?" he asked, instantly dropping the conversation. Suddenly, his face lit up. "Mr. Isaac!" he exclaimed.

"Wait a minute... Isaac's on the phone?" I said loudly. "Let me talk to him!" It couldn't possibly be Isaac! He'd been abducted by Eden and the enigmatic Bennet; they wouldn't have let him out to make a phone call, surely?

Hiro handed me the phone and proceeded to have a conversation with Ando in Japanese. As I put the phone up to my ear, I picked out the words "destiny" and " lose our number." Distantly, I wondered what they were talking about. "Isaac?" I demanded. "Is that you?"

"Who is this?" Yep, it was definitely Isaac. Though I'd only met him a few times, I had a good memory for voices.

"This is Dianne Morten," I said. "Peter's friend, remember? Where are you? We saw you getting carried off by Eden, and tried to stop her, but..."

Isaac chuckled. "Eden? Eden did me a favor. I'm... well, I've been clean for almost a week now. I can't paint the future without the drugs, but... Look, they've helped me here at the Company. I don't know exactly what they're doing, but they helped me. And I need to meet with Hiro Nakamura immediately. Where are you guys?"

"Texas," I said. "And, if you and Eden happen to be in the same place, you are too."

"Yeah, how did you--?"

"GPS. Look, do you think you can find the Burnt Toast Diner in Midland?" He assented. "I'll tell Hiro and Ando to meet you there, alright?"

He remained silent for a moment. "What about you?" he asked. "You coming?"

I chuckled. "No way. I have to wait for Peter to get out of jail." Before he could ask, I said, "It's a long story. I'll tell you next time I see you, okay? I've got to get back to county jail, see if they'll let me in to see him." I handed the phone back to Hiro and he had a brief conversation in stilted English with Isaac before hanging up.

"Are you sure you won't come with us to see the painter?" Ando asked as they got into their car.

"Nope." I shook my head. "I'm waiting for Peter."

The men nodded. "It's a shame he couldn't save the Cheerleader," Ando commented. I shrugged. We'd find a way to save the world with or without Cheerleader.

--

Peter sat in the interrogation room, rubbing his temples. God, he had the worst headache of his life. He might not have a scratch on him from his fall the night before, but his cranium didn't seem to know that. The squeak of hinges as the door opened was like a line of agony right across his skull.

"Your brother's very well-connected. Even down here," commented the short blonde woman who entered. "We had to climb over six lawyers to get to you, Mr. Petrelli." He didn't speak, just tried to keep his vision clear as the harsh tone of her voice cut against his ears. "You okay?" she asked.

He shook his head. "My head feels like it's gonna split open."

The tall, heavyset man who accompanied her pulled a bottle of aspirin from his pocket and set it on the table. "Help yourself," he said.

Peter knocked back four of the pills, praying it would do some good. "I didn't kill that girl," he said once he'd swallowed them.

"We know," the blonde said. "The blood we found on you was your own. We checked you out and... you don't seem to have any injuries. Care to explain that?" How the hell was he supposed to do that? Tell them he'd fallen five stories, broken his spine in four different places, and miraculously healed for no apparent reason? There was no way they'd believe him.

"If I'm not being charged, can I go?" he asked, avoiding her question.

She leaned forward in her chair, gazing at him intently. "What's a hospice nurse from Manhattan doing at a high school homecoming in Texas? You some kind of pervert?"

He shot her a look he hoped conveyed all his disgust at that idea. "My brother said not to talk," he muttered. For the umpteenth time he regretted making Nathan his one phone call. Maybe he should have called Dianne, as was his first instinct.

But the blonde was speaking again. "We don't need you to talk," she said, and he saw her glance over his shoulder at the tall man behind him. All at once, the pain in Peter's head reached a crescendo, and a high squealing sound, a bit like microphone feedback rang in his ears. He clutched at his skull, his own thoughts and those that didn't seem to belong to him echoing in his head. A man's thoughts... the thoughts of the man standing behind him. _Matt... _Matt was his name. _Save the cheerleader, save the world... _

"What are you doin' to me?" he demanded, gasping from the pain.

"Save the cheerleader..." Matt said quietly.

The other agent smiled ruefully. _Too late for that, the cheerleader's dead..._ "Wait, Claire's dead?" Peter exclaimed. _ Did he just read her mind? Is he one of them?_ Peter stared at Matt as the man's thoughts echoed in his head.

"The cheerleader's name is Jacky Wilcox," the woman said sharply.

"No, Claire was the one he wanted!" Peter exclaimed. "You're not protecting her? Look, you want to catch this guy, you gotta protect her!"

Matt was watching him with a shocked expression on his face. Again there was a whisper of that mental feedback, though not as painful as before. "He's telling the truth," Matt said quietly.

"We'd better find this cheerleader," the blonde said empathically.

"You're not gonna let me out of here?" Peter said, pleading.

She turned before walking out the door. "You get out when I get answers." He sat back in his seat, realizing now just for the first time that he had stood up at some point in the conversation. He dropped his head into his hands, the pain in his head returning as the adrenaline faded.

--

Claire smiled warily at the police officer who shook her father's hand. "Mr. Bennet, I just wanted you to know we're doing everything we can to catch this guy," he said.

"Thank you, Mr.--?" her father said questioningly.

"Parkman. Officer Matt Parkman." He shot her a glance and she met his eyes resolutely. Then they excused themselves and hurried down the hallway, to where she was to meet with Peter Petrelli. As they led her to a plexiglass door, she was horrified to see that they were keeping him locked up in a cell. It didn't seem right.

They entered; pleasantries and gratitude were exchanged between Peter and her father, and then she asked to speak with him alone. Her father nodded, and stepped outside the cell. She studied him for a moment in silence. He didn't look well, but that didn't stop her from asking, "How long have you known?"

"Known what?" he asked in confusion.

"That you're like me," she said, her voice breaking slightly. His eyes widened. "Wait a minute, Claire, do you... do you heal? Is that it?" She nodded, and a look of wonder crossed his face as they sat next to each other on the cot. "All this time, I thought it was just me, but now you're here," she said. Then she recalled something from the night before. "Is that why you saved me? Is that why you asked if I was the one?"

He shook his head. "No. I just knew that I had to save you."

"Why?"

"To save the world." She gave him a strange look, and asked how. Peter shrugged. "I don't know- yet. But I do know... that I don't think I would be here if it weren't for you. I think I died."

She laughed. "I've died before. It's no big deal."

But her merry attitude wasn't catching. A regretful look came over his eyes. "I'm not like you Claire," he began. Her father knocked on the glass, interrupting him, but she gave him a just-a-minute gesture, and turned back to Peter. "I'm kinda new to this whole healing thing."

"Wait, so you didn't know you were gonna heal when you dove off the building?"

"No," he said, and coughed. "Kinda stupid, huh?"

She smiled. "No it's not." She rose, and crossed to the door where her father was waiting impatiently. "You're totally my hero," she said as the guard opened the door for her. He chuckled softly, smiling at her as she disappeared around the corner.

--

**Another Note From Lara: Well, that's that. This chapter felt a little dry to me... but maybe that's just me. Next chapter, on the other hand, is going to be EPIC. I promise. It really will. Oh, and just an update on where the various characters are at in their stories, since I couldn't really fit it all in with all that's going on in Peter-n-Dianne Land:**

**DL absconded with Micah, trying to protect him from Niki/Jessica. Jessica bought a sniper rifle and took a shot at DL, injuring him. But after chasing them through the woods, Niki got back in control of her/their mind, and reconciled with her son and husband. She later realized that as long as Jessica was around, she couldn't be trusted, and turned herself in for the murder of DL's team.**

**Matt is busy flirting with Agent Hanson, and investigating Bennet because of the "absence of noise" (courtesy of the Haitian!) he got while trying to mentally eavesdrop on Claire's questioning about the events of Homecoming. He managed to pull the word "Sylar" out of Bennet's head, and they are now planning a raid on Primatech.**

**Isaac, Hiro, and Ando are at a hotel while Isaac paints the future... clean! Yay! And Isaac has told them about the painting of the exploding man. And Hiro can't teleport because he couldn't save Charlie. Which is tremendously sad. I really liked Charlie.**

**Okay. Reviews, please?**


	32. The Truth About The Bomb and My Heart

**A Note From Lara: You know what? You guys are awesome. Seriously awesome. I get SO MUCH feedback for this story; you have no idea how happy it makes me. Just to prove that you are awesome, I'm making this chapter a little extra-long. Partly because it's a feel-good gift to my readers, and partly because I had too much that I wanted to fit in this chapter that I couldn't justify cutting off to keep for next chapter.... So enjoy! **

--

It was closing on five o'clock, Peter had been sitting in some cell for twenty hours, and I was mad as hell. Not, y'know, that that's really so unusual.

"Alright," I said sharply, marching up to the irritating desk-job "policeman" who had been barring my entrance to the station since eight-thirty the night before, "I am tired of this. I have been waiting here for _hours_. I'm assuming that by this point you've realized that Peter Petrelli is not the guy you're after. And I want to see him. _Now_." I tried to convey by my tone that I was done playing nice. Of course, I never play nice anyway, but these things are relative.

The man rubbed his temples. "Miss Morten, as I've already told you at least two dozen times today, I can't allow you back there until--"

"Actually," a male voice heavily laden with a Texas accent drawled, "now that Mr. Petrelli is no longer a suspect, you're free to go back and see him." I turned around to discover that a short, balding, fat guy - who I took for the sheriff based on the shiny star on his chest- standing behind me. Great. Just great. I finally broiled up enough righteous anger to carry me past any red tape these half-wit small-town cops tried to throw at me, and they just ushered me right through? Was there no justice in the world? I raised an eyebrow at the sheriff, but said nothing, simply gestured to him to lead the way. He obliged, directing me through the maze-like bowels of the police station until we reached a small cell in the far back with one plexiglass wall and three cinderblock ones.

I peered through the plexi, and immediately saw Peter sitting inside on what passed for a prison cot. Although he didn't notice me, apparently too busy staring at the wall, I immediately felt a huge weight I hadn't realized I was carrying lift from my chest. But it came crashing back in a second when I got a good look at him. He was horribly pale, and a thin sheen of sweat covered his face. I surveyed him for a moment, then rounded on the police chief. "Couldn't you at least have gotten him a clean shirt to wear?" I half-shouted, taking a step forward at him menacingly. "You know, one that isn't soaked in blood? That's highly unsanitary, not to mention a clear violation of his constitutional rights." That was mostly BS, but I was fairly sure that forcing him to continue to wear a bloodstained shirt was really bad form, if not technically illegal.

"But... but..." the man blustered, "the cost of the shirt would come out of taxpayer--"

"Oh _bullshit_," I hissed, very glad that I was a good inch taller than the diminuitive officer. "There are how many taxpaying citizens in Texas? And a T-shirt would cost- what? Six bucks, max? _Get. Him. A. Clean. Shirt._"

The cowed public official shot a look and a nod at one of the officers standing around, and he hurried away. I leaned against the wall, tapping my foot impatiently until he returned and handed me a clean white T-shirt. "Thank you," I said sarcastically. Maybe I was overdoing it, but I was fairly pissed off. _Nobody _messed with my best friend. "Can I talk to him now? Alone, preferrably?" The sheriff nodded, and the same officer who'd brought the shirt unlocked the door for me.

Peter still didn't look up when I came in, still staring at that same spot in the wall. I took a moment to study him, leaning against the metal doorframe. Without bulletproof plexiglass between us, he looked even worse, as if he could keel over from sheer exhaustion at any second.

"That was a really stupidass move you pulled," I said dryly after a few moments of watching him.

He jumped in surprise and turned to face me. A bright smile broke across his face at the sight of me. "Dianne!" he said. "You're here."

I nodded. "Finally. They wouldn't let me in until now. What were you thinking, ditching me like that?" He didn't answer, and I pressed on, "If Ando hadn't told me why, I'd probably be mad." I pushed off from the wall, uncrossed my arms, and sat down next to him on his cot. "You look like hell, Pete. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," he said, but broke into a violent coughing fit on the last word. When he could breathe again, he leaned back against the wall, his eyes closed.

"Or _not_," I said, raising an eyebrow. "First thing we're going to do when we get you out of here is take you to a doctor."

Peter gave me a watered-down version of his usual lopsided grin. "You're the boss," he said weakly. I gave him a you-know-it grin, trying to disguise the fact that I was suddenly frantic with worry for him. It scared me to see him looking so sick. "Not that you look so good yourself," he commented. "Have you slept at all?" I hadn't. Who had time to sleep when Peter was in jail and I had to get him out by any means necessary?

"No. I don't need sleep," I said, trying to keep my tone light. "And it doesn't exactly come with a PhD in medicine, but this might help you feel better. I bullied them into getting you a clean T-shirt. Now you don't have to sit around covered in blood." I handed him the shirt, and he gratefully stripped off his old one. I pretended not to be sneaking sidelong glances at him as he pulled the clean shirt on over his head. I'd seen Peter shirtless plenty of times, but I was always surprised that someone so thin could be so well-defined. Attempting to distract myself, I said, "So, what happened?"

He shrugged. "I saved the cheerleader," he said simply.

"But the cheerleader's dead!" I exclaimed. "Some girl, named Jacky Wilcox--"

Peter shook his head. "No. Sylar- if it _was_ Sylar- was after another girl. Her name is Claire Bennet. She was in here just a few minutes ago. She can heal herself. That's how I survived the fall- when she got close I absorbed her ability and was able to recover from my injuries."

"Seriously?" I asked, feeling my eyes widen against my will. He tipped his head to the side, a small and completely incomprehensible smile spreading across his face, the nodded. "Well then. That's good. I don't know what I'd have done if you'd..." I trailed away, unable to say it, even now.

He understood, and patted me on the shoulder. "It's okay," he said. "It didn't happen. That's what's important. And we can save the world now, right?"

I chuckled softly to myself. "Yeah. Something like that. Speaking of which, I should probably call Hiro and let him know that you managed to save the cheerleader. When I was talking to him earlier, we didn't know, so..."

"You met him? Him from the present, I mean?" Peter asked excitedly. "What's he like?"

"Well," I said, seizing on the sudden lightness in the atmosphere and running with it, "he's even shorter than you, which is impressive."

"Hey!"

I laughed, and reached up to tug on the long lock of raven hair that fell in Peter's eyes. It was a habit I'd fallen into not long after we became friends. "Oh come on Pete, you know that what you lack in height you completely make up for in adorableness."

_Stupid, traitorous mouth! _Why did I say that? It wasn't something I would normally have said, under any situation. The weight the conversation had had before my joking suddenly returned as his brown eyes met my blue ones, but it wasn't the same tension. It was as if we were both holding our breath. I suddenly found that my heart had accelerated uncomfortably, which made no sense- this was _Peter_! "You think I'm adorable?" he asked softly. I pulled back slightly, some instinct warning me from deep in my gut that I was about to reach very treacherous waters.

"You really are clueless, aren't you?" I said, and a strange, almost hopeful look came into his eyes. "You have no idea, do you?" I had to turn this around, and make it look like for the last ten seconds I _hadn't_ been feeling these completely illogical things.

"No idea about what?" he asked.

I chuckled lightly, trying to make it sound unforced. "Are you completely blind? I'd have thought the reaction of all the women at Nathan's campaign office would have tipped you off. Every time you walk in a room, every female in a fifty-foot radius drops what she's doing and _drools_, Peter!" It was actually very true. I'd been irrationally irritated by it when I still worked for Nathan.

"Really?" He looked completely nonplussed, but there was also something... else in the back of his eyes that I couldn't understand.

"Yeah. You didn't know that? It's kind of pathetic, actually," I commented. "There was a pool going for awhile around the office about who was the most likely candidate to be your next girlfriend. It was down to Carol Blythe, Eve Richards, and Cynthia Perezzo." Well, according to Eve, I had been in the running as well, but I judiciously decided not to mention that right now. This conversation had taken one strange turn after another, and I didn't think opening another potential can of worms was the best idea.

Peter snorted. "Cynthia Perezzo? Really? I've never really gone for blondes," he commented dryly.

"Why doesn't that surprise me? I guess I really do know you too well," I said. "Then again, Barry Allen always did say I had this way of getting right to the heart of things. Maybe that applies to people, too. Guess that's my superpower- I'm clear sighted. Hooray having a mostly useless superpower." I made a tiny, apathetic version of a fist-pump, and Peter laughed. "Look, Peter, I should probably go. I need to call Hiro, and I'm gonna go do some research on this... what'd you say her name is? Claire?"

He nodded. "Okay. You'll be back though, right?"

"I _always_ come back," I said. It felt like a weightier promise than it really was. "I talked to Nathan a few hours ago in between attempts to batter down the doors of this place, and he said he was trying to catch a flight down. He ought to be here to spring you in... well, not that long, actually. So I'll go make my calls and talk go Claire, and then be back, okay?" He smiled, and I signalled to the officer standing outside the plexiglass to unlock the door.

Once I was safely down the long bare hall outside the cell and out of sight, I leaned up against a wall, eyes closed. _What the hell had that been?_

--

Half an hour later, I was on my way back to the police station, going over my conversation with Hiro in my head. He was relieved to hear that the cheerleader had, in fact, been saved, but his new information was more troubling. He and his dubious sidekick had met up with Isaac, and apparently the man could paint clean, which was good news. However, he had also drawn a picture of an "exploding man." Hiro's take on the matter was that there must be a villain, with some kind of nuclear power. I was inclined to agree with him, and I knew there was some kind of connection here, some puzzle I didn't have all the pieces to yet, and it was driving me _crazy_. But that was always the way when I couldn't put together a case- I obsessed about it until either it was solved or something monumental distracted me.

I had also looked up Claire Bennet through the miracle of 3G, and I had discovered something very disturbing. When I accessed her records, I discovered that she was the adopted daughter of Noah and Sandra Bennet. I looked into the parents. Sandra was uninteresting- she had been a dog breeder specializing in Pomeranians before marrying Noah- but the father worked as a regional manager for Primatech Paper. The very same Primatech that was the central figure in my conspiracy theory. This was not good, but it seemed to confirm my suspicions.

And now I was on my way back to the police station. I hopped out of the taxi, throwing a twenty to the cabby as I did so, and hurried up the steps toward the big glass doors at the front of the building. As I reached the top, Peter and Nathan emerged.

"--and that girl, and that guy who was trying to kill that girl, I figured it out. We're all connected!" Peter was saying excitedly to Nathan. To my horror, I realized that Peter's condition had clearly deteriorated further in my absence. Oh god, how had he gotten so much worse so quickly?

As I reached them, Nathan broke through Peter's intense monologue to say harshly, "I blame you for this, you know."

I was on the verge of replying heatedly when Peter suddenly stumbled. "Peter!" I yelled, but it was too late. He fell to the ground, landing hard on the concrete. Nathan and I immediately laid of glaring at each other and dropped down next to him. "Peter?" I whispered, grabbing his hand and checking his pulse at his wrist. I was shocked to realize that his heart was racing at far past the normal pace. This was _not_ good...

--

_He was in New York City. How had he gotten here so quickly? Had he somehow tapped into Hiro's power and teleported here? But it didn't seem to matter. He strode down the street- the one outside of Nathan's office, he realized- and was surprised to find that it was deserted. Bicycles lay abandoned where they lay, and a typical big city traffic jam stayed motionless, but not in the typical way. Everything was... silent. Only the howl of the wind and a ringing like struck crystal met his ears._

_A frightening thought occurred to him- he was the only living man in New York City._

_It should have sent him screaming into the nearest building, searching for someone, anyone, but for the moment he was able to detach himself from the panic. He didn't think it would last long, but for now he could keep his head. Dianne would be proud of him._

_Suddenly, a cab door opened to his right, and Mohinder Suresh, of all people, stepped out. At first he smiled at Peter, and Peter felt his own mouth curve upward in response. But suddenly, Suresh's face twisted downward in fear, and he slammed the cab door shut with a muffled thunk. He took off running away down the street. Peter stared after him in confusion._

_The passengers in Suresh's taxi climbed out, and he stepped toward them. A tall black man, carrying a curly-haired boy who was obviously his son, accompanied by a stunning blonde woman- what was her name? He should know this. He should know who they were. Yes. It came to him now. The man was DL Hawkins, and the boy was Micah. The woman... she was Niki. Niki Sanders. Wasn't that the woman Nathan had been with in Las Vegas...?_

_But his mind wouldn't focus, and the thought slipped past him. All he knew was that she was important. He tried to follow her, tried to ask her what made her so important, but suddenly Officer Matt Parkman stepped between them, motioning the three of them and Suresh onward. He held up a hand to stop Peter from following, something in his eyes that Peter could only define as fear._

_Why was everyone so afraid of him? Why were they all running away? What was going on? Where was Dianne?_

_He spotted Nathan coming out of his offices, but he continued to look around, distracted. There was Simone- what was she doing here? She took Isaac's hand, pulling him away down a side street, panic written all across her face. The fear that Peter had been successfully struggling with so far began to rise up, a sick taste in his throat._

_And there was Claire in her cheerleading outfit, running toward him between the abandoned cars. He tried to catch her eye but failing. He turned away, and spied Ando and a short bespectacled man who could only be Hiro watching him from the street corner. Ando shook his head and turned away. Hiro gave him a look of- disappointment? Sadness, certainly, and something else he couldn't really identify. What was going on?_

_Claire reached him, horror in her face as she looked at him. "I'm sorry," she said. The eerie muted silence muffled her words, but he could read her lips, and as her eyes cast downwards, she turned and ran, just like everyone else. He followed her final glance at him, and it suddenly hit him, why everyone was running._

_His hands were alight, glowing with deadly power from within, and he could feel a faint hum of radiation simmering beneath his skin. Oh god. This couldn't be happening. The reaction began to build in power inside him, and the panic he'd been feeling already tripled. He stared around wildly, searching for someone to help him. _

_Nathan! Nathan would know what to do. He whipped back to where he had seen his brother last, and was surprised to see that Nathan had stopped walking toward him. His eyes were fixed at a point over Peter's shoulder. Peter glanced across and spied a white-haired man who looked vaguely familiar for some reason. The man shook his head, and Nathan nodded sadly, then took a step back, apology in his eyes. No! No, this couldn't be right, Nathan was always there for him, no matter what! He had to help him!_

_Peter looked around again, terror singing in his blood as he tried to rein in the building explosion within him, searching for the one face he _had_ to see. And suddenly, there she was, lit up like the sun. And unlike everyone else, Dianne was running toward him. Fear echoed in her face, but she was making her way through the mass of cars, desperately trying to reach him. He felt a flicker of hope. Maybe they could stop this..._

_Out of nowhere, a tiny blonde woman came running into view. The white-haired man across the street smiled faintly as the blonde slammed into Dianne, knocking her to the ground. "No!" Dianne screamed soundlessly. And then, Peter lost control of the bomb he had tried to contain, and the whole world went up in a flash of white-hot fire, and he screamed..._

--

Peter gasped suddenly, his eyes opening. Nathan had his head cradled in his lap and I continued to clutch onto his hand, unable to let go until I knew he was alright. "It's all my fault," he whispered hoarsely.

"What? Peter, what is it?" I said, not quite able to keep the note of panic out of my voice.

"The bomb. It's me!" he gasped. What? What was he talking about? How did he... he didn't even know about the exploding man Isaac had painted yet! "Dianne!" Peter clutched at my hand already curled around his, cutting off my blood flow his grip was so tight and desperate. "Dianne, you have to... go to Vegas. Find Niki..." He paused, coughing weakly. "Find Niki Sanders..."

His head fell back limply against Nathan's supporting arm. I realized that he had stopped breathing. "Peter!" Nathan and I yelled at the same moment.

"Peter, breathe. Breathe," Nathan said, slapping at his face gently, but it did not revive him. Oh god. Personnel from the police station swarmed around us. Oh god, _no_! Peter... This was not happening! Peter was not dying! Any second now, he would start breathing again, and open his eyes, and explain what the hell he'd been talking about...

But as the seconds passed and his breathing was only restarted through Nathan's rough attempt at CPR, I began to slowly understand that Peter wasn't going to wake up. At the realize, my sluggish brain seemed to jolt to life, and all the pieces of my own thoughts and feelings I hadn't quite been able to put together before came snapping together.

And the revelation was enough to knock me back and leave me sitting on the pavement, mind reeling. I sat absolutely still as minutes passed, as an ambulance arrived, as Nathan hastily explained what had happened to the paramedics, and not once did I take my eyes from Peter's porcelain features. He was lying so still, it terrified me. Aside from the lurking fear, I was completely numb, untouched by the flurry of motion all around me, and a dull roar filled my ears, replacing all the sound outside my head. This was bad. This was very bad.

Finally, I managed to pull myself together enough to get to my feet and tell Nathan- who was to accompany the ambulance- that I'd meet him at the hospital. _Peter would be okay_, I told myself. He _had _to be.

Because I was in love with him.

--

**Another Note from Lara: And I hope your reaction is something along the lines of: "!!!!!!!!" If it's not, I haven't done my job right. Let me know! !!!!!! ;)**


	33. Hospital

**A Note From Lara: Well, after all the !!!!-ing I got as reviews for last chapter, I figured I should try to update quickly. I tried to make this an emotional contrast to last chapter, but I think I just wound up with a bit of weird, unnecessary angst.**

--

I leaned my head back against the wall with a dull thunk. I had been sitting here all night, sitting on the floor, my back to the wall, with my knees drawn up to my chin. They had tried to get me to leave, claiming that visitors weren't allowed in the ICU until the patient- Peter- had stabilized, but I had refused to acknowledge the nurses shrill insistence that I leave except to give them my patented Make-Me glare. There was absolutely no way I was going to move one inch farther from Peter than I had to. I had only moved once, standing up hurriedly when the doctor came out of Peter's room a few minutes before. But the prick wouldn't even talk to me, instead hurrying down to the normal waiting room where Nathan had consented to sit for the last five hours.

Glancing at the clock on the wall opposite me, I confirmed that it was, in fact, after three a.m.- Peter had been here since just past ten o'clock. Five hours. Surely they had something to tell us by now!

Nathan came into view around the corner, deep in conversation with the gray-haired doctor, and I lurched to my feet. "How is he?" I demanded. "What's going on?" Nathan ignored me and the doctor followed his lead, instead hurrying into the room, closing the door firmly in my face. I took a deep, shuddering breath, using every ounce of self-control I had to prevent myself from kicking the door in and demanding to know how Peter was. It wouldn't take that much, just a couple decent blows to the hinges...

Before I did something drastic, I hurriedly pulled my mind away from that extremely appealing idea and turned it right back to the same circle I'd been running in ever since Peter collapsed.

Leaning against the wall once more, I sighed heavily. I was in love with Peter. I was in love with my best friend.

The first question that flew to my mind was, "how did this happen?" The answer came as quickly as the question had: Peter was... well, he was Peter. He was sweet and kind and unexpectedly brave. He was the guy who knew me too well; he was the one who had finally broken through the mask of "I'm okay" that I'd worn for so long, and didn't think any less of me for the weakness beneath it. I loved him for that, and for all the little things I'd taken for granted until suddenly it looked like I might lose them- and him. His little crooked smile, the conversations we had about everything and nothing, his secret weakness for romantic comedies, even the incredulous laugh he seemed to reserve for whenever I said something ridiculous completely implausible...

God, I was so screwed. Somehow I had managed to fall completely and hopelessly in love with him, and hadn't even noticed until circumstances forced me to see the truth. And the worst of it was, there was no way I'd ever work up the guts to do anything about it.

Because beneath the facade, I was a complete and utter coward. My mind and body were strong, and I knew it. I could deal with any attack from those angles, and come through fine. But my heart... well, my heart was weak and soft and I knew it. It was more than half of why I was such poison in any kind of relationship. Everything went fine, as long as I had no real feelings for the guy in question. That was safe, and I was strong enough to keep myself together when it fell apart. But the second I started to really care for him, I had to cut my losses and run, because I couldn't let myself get too far in. Being really, emotionally committed, meant that when it ended, I'd be broken. My heart wasn't as strong as the rest of me, and I wasn't sure I could stand that kind of pain. I didn't let people in- not that way, anyway.

But Peter... he hadn't come in with big flashing signs saying "boyfriend potential," he'd slipped under all my barriers, and now it was too late because I was head over heels. And the problem now was that as much as my head was screaming at me to run away, and cut him out of my life, my heart was pulling in the other direction, because I _needed_ Peter, in a way I'd never needed anybody. I couldn't remember what life was like without him in it to finish my sentences for me and pull me back when I went too far past my own limits. Everything just generally sucked without Peter, and I knew that I couldn't run away, not from him. He had me caught, just as surely as if we were handcuffed together. Thank god I still had the best friends card to play.

And even a best friend was better than nothing. I'd still always have him in my life, even if it was never anything more. The pathetic thing was that I _did_ want more, no matter what my track record was. I'd just never have the courage to go after it.

Suddenly, the door to the hospital room opened, and I whipped around. Nathan walked out, looking concerned and harried. "What did the doctor say?" I demanded.

"He's--" Nathan struggled, distracted. "He's stable..." He trailed away, already brushing past me down the hall, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket. _Asshole_...

Immediately I hurried into the room. My eyes were immediately drawn to the figure lying frighteningly still in the bed, but I wrenched them upward to see the gray-haired doctor who stood over him, making a few final notes on his chart. "How is he?" I demanded.

The man looked up, saw who it was, and sighed. I hadn't exactly been the most patient visitor. "Not good," he said. "Remind me who you are, again?"

I felt my spine stiffen in affront. Who the hell did he think _he_ was, asking me who I was? "I'm Peter's friend," I said. The man raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. "Look, I care about him a lot, and I would really appreciate you telling me what's wrong with him. Nathan's being incredibly unhelpful, but that's normal. Please." I was holding on to my self-control by threads, and the feigned politeness was the prelude to the explosion I knew was coming.

He sighed. "Mr. Petrelli is suffering from an idiopathic fever," he said as though that explained everything.

"I speak German, not gibberish," I said. "Care to explain what an "idiopathic fever" is?"

The man ran a hand across his combover in obvious frustration. "Do you want the answer we gave Mr. Petrelli, or do you want the true answer?"

I raised an eyebrow. "What do you think?"

"Basically, it means we have no clue what's wrong with him. He _ought_ to be fine, but... he's not. His body temperature and pulse rate are far above normal levels, which would indicate an allergic reaction if there were any other symptoms accompanying them, but we can't find anything else wrong with him, and we can't detect any antigens. Nothing we can think of would result in a comatose state. It's like his body just shut down for no real reason."

"How soon will he get better?" I asked.

The deafening silence in the ward as I waited for an answer told me all I needed to know, but I didn't want to believe that, and I met the doctor's eyes with a steely glare, daring him to tell me what I already knew. Finally, he rubbed a hand across his eyes. "We don't know that he will," he said. "Honestly, I have no idea what we're dealing with here, and with the way his heart is racing, if he doesn't wake up within the next week, he's... well, he doesn't have a good chance. The human heart isn't built to take that kind of stress. Heart failure is almost certain after a week. He might last two, but I really can't say..."

He kept speaking, but I didn't hear what he said over the roaring that suddenly filled my ears. I sank down into one of the hard-backed chairs next to Peter's bed, clamping my hands onto my knees to prevent them from shaking. This was not possible. Peter was _not_ dying. I looked up at the doctor, whose brusque manner had been replaced with a look of concern. "Can I... have a moment alone with him?" I asked hesitantly. He nodded, and hurried out of the room.

I took a deep breath, steadying myself, then I moved to sit on the edge of the bed. For a moment, I just stared at him, _willing_ him to open his eyes. God, he was so pale. Well, he was always pale, but he looked so _unhealthy_. "Hi Pete," I said, my voice cracking slightly. "Can you hear me? I really hope you can, because you really need to get better. The doctors don't think much of your chances, but they don't actually know what's wrong with you so I'd rather trust my gut than their half-assed attempts at modern medicine. And my gut tells me that you can get through this. You hear me, Peter? You _have_ to get better! There are a lot of people counting on you. Your family, and Hiro and Ando and Isaac. Spens needs you to come back and help him with his problem. And... I need you too. You have no idea how much." With a sad smile, I reached up to brush the lock of raven hair falling across his forehead out of his eyes. "You've been keeping my life together the past few months. When you found out about- well, my life- you didn't freak out. When Sam died, you were there for me. I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have stayed in this dimension if you hadn't become my friend. I had the option, you know. Barry promised he'd check on how I was doing after a few weeks or so, to make sure I was doing okay. I could have flagged him down and asked to go back. But I didn't, because for the first time in my life, I had a real best friend. So you gotta recover.

"Tell you what," I said, taking his too-hot hand in mine, "I'll make you a deal. You stay here and get better, and I'll go to Las Vegas, like you said. I'll find... what did you say her name was? Niki? Who is she? Why is she so important? I keep thinking I've heard the name before somewhere. Is she someone you know? Guess I'll have to ask Nathan, since you're not giving me any answers." I half-smiled to myself. "Not that it'll do me much good to ask him; he's about as uncommunicative as you are right now. But you know me- I won't stop until I find out who she is, okay?"

He didn't move, didn't make any indication that he'd heard what I'd said. I rose to my feet, releasing his hand as I did so. Leaning over him, I kissed him gently on the forehead. "Love you," I whispered. The pulse racing across the heart monitor spiked briefly, illiciting a beep from the machine, and I held my breath for an endless second. But he didn't so much as twitch, and with a sigh, I turned away.

I couldn't stay here and watch him die. I just _couldn't_. I had things I had to do.

--

"Who's Niki Sanders?" I demanded.

Nathan, who had been slumped in one of the chairs in the waiting room, looked up, the color draining his face. "Wh-what?" he asked.

I rolled my eyes. "Who's Niki? Right after Peter collapsed, he said something about Niki Sanders, and I swear I've heard the name _somewhere_ before, but I can't remember where, and I thought maybe she was a relative or a friend or something, but since he doesn't seem to be waking up, I figured I'd ask you."

"Why do you want to know?" Nathan asked in hushed tones.

"Because I need to find her. It was the last thing Peter said, and honestly? I'd risk my life on his delirious ramblings before a direct order from the President of the United States. So can you help me out here?"

I could see from his continued pallor that he knew who she was, but he seemed unwilling to say anything. "Look," I said. "I know you know. It's pretty obvious. If Peter is right, if the future Hiro saw and Isaac painted comes true, this woman might have something to do with that. And I need to find her if we're going to stop it. So please. Forget that I'm the worst ex-employee ever, forget whatever it is about Niki that's making you look like you're about to hurl. Just tell me who she is."

He glanced around in the waiting room, saw that we were alone, and sighed. "She's... I think she works for Daniel Linderman." Linderman again. I wanted to delve deeper into that, but he was hesitant to speak anyway, and I didn't want to discourage him by asking too many questions. "He had her sleep with me, and videotaped it. For leverage, if Linderman decides he needs something on me."

"Oh." Not what I was expecting. "Okay. Do you know how I can find her?"

Nathan frowned. "You could try the Imperial Casino."

"Linderman's place?"

He nodded. "I don't know how else to find her. It was just... a one-night thing, you understand? We met in the casino, we had dinner, we talked some..." He trailed away. I resisted the temptation to roll my eyes again. Even I, with my level of commitment-shyness, couldn't wrap my mind around one-night stands. It seemed like such a heartless thing...

"Thank you, Nathan," I said stiffly. I turned to leave the waiting room, then whirled back to face him. "You'll let me know the second he wakes up, won't you? He should have my cell phone number."

"Where are you going to be?" he asked, clearly confused.

I dropped my face into my palm. "To find Niki Sanders," I said in a tone of someone who was explaining this to an extremely dense three-year-old. That is, if that somewhere were being extremely sarcastic. "Haven't we been over this?"

"Well, yes, but--"

"But you didn't think I was actually going to go and physically _find_ her? I'm a very DIY girl, Nathan. Peter says "go find Niki Sanders", I'm going to go find Niki Sanders. Unlike you."

He raised one carefully sculpted eyebrow. "And what's that supposed to mean?" he asked.

I cocked my head to one side. "Oh please," I said, "Peter practically begs you to help him, and you blow him off in favor of your image. God knows, we can't sacrifice our career for our family."

Nathan sighed. "I wouldn't expect you to understand, anyway. You always were narrow-minded..."

"Excuse me? Narrow-minded?" I half-shouted. "Who was the one who actually _believed_ Peter when he said he could fly, no questions asked? It was me. And who turned out to be right? Me. And what do you mean, always? Aside from the last few weeks, you and I had never even spoken to each other before!"

"Nothing," he said. "Turn of phrase."

I had to hand it to Nathan, he was an excellent liar. Probably why he made such a good politician, actually. But I was every bit as good at detecting lies as he was at spinning them, and I could tell he wasn't being entirely truthful. It _wasn't_ a just turn of phrase. Nathan knew... well, something. If I weren't so desperate to get out of this hospital where Peter was fighting for his life, I'd have pressed the issue. But I wanted to leave and get on the road as quickly as I possibly could, so I allowed Nathan to brush past me out of the waiting room.

--

**Another Note From Lara: Well, it wasn't really my best chapter, but there'll be some good stuff coming up in the next few. And I might be induced to get those written and posted faster if I were to receive some super-excellent reviews... ;)**


	34. Talking To the Cheerleader

**A Note From Lara: Just a quick note- the band talked about in this chapter is a REAL band; they're mostly just a local group in my area, but they have some really good stuff on YouTube if you feel like wading past all the other crap under a search for "Winterstorm". The character of Spens, as some of you already know (looking at you, Erin), is loosely based on my friend Spencer, who's the lead singer of Winterstorm. I figured I ought to mention this, as Spencer would be very angry at me for not using the opportunity to pimp his band for him. *winks***

--

_Meanwhile, back in NYC..._

Tanya tossed a lock of strawberry hair over her shoulder as she rapped her knuckles against the peeling door. There was an impatient pause and then the door swung open to reveal Spens, his long red hair a tangled mess. He stared at her wildly. "Tanya, go away!" he exclaimed, backing into his apartment.

"Dianne told me I should keep an eye on you," Tanya said calmly. "Dianne usually has a good reason for stuff, so what's going on?"

"I'm dangerous," he said. "Peter said he'd help me, but he hasn't come back, and I don't know what to do..."

Tanya cocked her head to one side. "Alright, come on." She took him by the arm and steered him into his kitchen, forcing him down into a chair at the table. Carefully avoiding staring at the disgusting mess in the room, she said, "Now, what's the problem?"

Spens took a deep breath. "I thought I had control of this thing, so I went to meet up with the guys at the studio to practice; we've got a tour coming up in a couple months. But halfway through the session, I lost my focus, and... well, let's just say we need a new place to practice. Curtis almost got his shoulder broken when a part of the ceiling caved in. I can't risk letting anything like that happen again."

The blonde chewed her lip thoughtfully, studying him. "Maybe you just need to practice. Like, if you find the on switch you can find the off switch."

"You really are starting to think like Dianne, aren't you?" Spens said, avoiding her comment.

She nodded, but wasn't diverted. "So how about it?"

Spens shook his head. "I don't think so. It's too dangerous. What if I _really_ lose control and the whole building comes down? I'd kill, like, thirty people!"

Tanya smirked knowingly, raising her eyebrows. "Not necessarily. You forget- you're not the only one with superpowers in this room. And unlike you, _I've_ been practicing. I can stop you if you lose it Contain it, you know?"

A flicker of hope showed in Spens's bloodshot grey eyes. "Do you think you can?"

"Oh, I _know_ I can."

Standing there, her arms crossed, Tanya was an imposing figure despite her tiny stature. Spens realized that he wasn't going to be able to back out of this. "Okay... so when do we start?"

Tanya tapped a finger against her lips, sizing him up for a moment. "This afternoon. I have to go to work right now- my shift starts in like twenty minutes- but I get off at four, okay? I'll meet you on the roof at four-thirty." He nodded, and she turned and walked out of the apartment. As she hurried back downstairs to grab her purse, her cell phone rang. Tanya pulled it out of her pocket. "Hello?" she said absently, fiddling with the lock on the apartment door.

"Tanya? It's me," said a familiar voice on the other end of the line.

"Dianne! Oh my god! How did it go?"

The ex-vigilante sighed heavily. "Mixed reviews. On the plus side, we apparently saved the cheerleader, and Peter didn't fall to his death. Or rather, he did, but... oh whatever, it's complicated. On the not-so-plus side, he's now in the hospital. The doctors have no idea what's wrong with him, but he's in some kind of coma. Nathan's having him airlifted back to New York Gen, but they're leaving no doubts what they think of his chances."

There was a hitch in her voice that Tanya wasn't entirely sure she caught. "Oh no," she said quietly. "How soon will you be back?"

"I'm not coming back," Dianne said. "The last thing Peter said to me before he passed out was that I had to find somebody named Niki Sanders in Las Vegas. I'm gonna go talk to the cheerleader and find out what made her so important, and then I'll head out to Vegas for a week or so to see what I can turn up, okay?"

"Are you sure you have enough cash for that kind of road trip?"

Dianne laughed humorlessly. "I've been making minimum wage or less for the last ten years, and I'm a very experienced hitchhiker. I can probably make it to Nevada on what I've got on me. Like backpacking through Europe skinflint style."

Tanya giggled. "Okay then. But just call me if you need anything, alright?"

"Yeah. Look, just take care of Spens and... visit Peter for me, if you get a chance. Call me if he improves at all, because I doubt Nathan will."

Tanya agreed quickly, and the conversation ended. As she snapped her phone shut sharply, she wondered just what it was that drove Dianne to do these insane things. She was like a bullet- just point her in the right direction and provide a catalyst, and she went straight for it unless something diverted her. But running off to Vegas with barely two hundred dollars in her pocket was a little extreme even for her. Tanya had a suspicion that there was something more to this than desire to save the world.

--

_Odessa, Texas_

I was inexplicably nervous as I knocked on the door to the Bennet home. The pretty two-story house reminded me vaguely of something, but I was sure I had never been here before in my life. Maybe... it looked a bit like the house I had lived in out in the suburbs for the first six years of my life, before that night when my parents were killed. No wonder I was apprehensive. I was flashing back to the best years of my life, and it was messing with my head.

Before I could collect my thoughts, the door swung open. A beautiful blonde girl stood there, her green eyes wide with poorly disguised apprehension. "Um... hi," she said, phrasing it more as a question than a greeting. "Can I help you?"

I half-smiled. "I hope so. Claire, right? Claire Bennet?"

She nodded hesitantly. "That's me."

"I'm a friend of Peter Petrelli's." A small smile curved across Claire's lips, and immediately she ushered me inside. "Look, I don't really have that long, but I needed to talk to you. Peter said he didn't get long to talk to you, and you probably really need to know what's going on."

Claire nodded. "That would be great. I'm not getting answers from _anybody_ lately."

Boy, did I know the feeling. She directed me to the living room, and we sat on the comfortably overstuffed sofa. "Peter said that you can heal yourself, right?" I asked.

Her bright smile saddened. "Yeah. From anything."

"Cool. I know some people who would _kill_ for..." I trailed away as I realized what I'd said. I cleared my throat awkwardly. "Anyway. Trust me, you're not the only one with powers like that. My roommate can throw force fields. Our upstairs neighbor makes earthquakes. Peter... does whatever the people around him can do."

Claire's eyes widened. "And what about you?" she asked eagerly.

I shrugged. "I'm absolutely ordinary. No fancy powers to make life easier. But I can hold my own _plenty_ well enough without them."

"Feel free to have mine," she said bitterly. "I don't want it."

"Why not?"

"Just because I can't die doesn't mean I don't feel pain."

That made sense. I'd been through enough trauma in my life to know that serious injuries were a bitch. "Right. Okay, answers. Did Peter tell you why we came here to save you?" She shook her head. I sighed. "Figures. Leave out all the _important_ information, why don't you? Well, about a week ago, a man named Hiro Nakamura came from the future, stopped time on the subway, and told Peter to "Save the cheerleader, save the world." We spent all last week trying to figure out who we were supposed to save through Isaac's paintings."

"What?"

"Isaac Mendez. He's this guy who can paint the future. His paintings told us that the cheerleader we were looking for went to school at Union Wells High, and the attack on her was supposed to happen at homecoming, so we came down to try and stop Sylar from killing you."

"Who's Sylar?"

I shook my head. "Well, we don't know if it was Sylar or not. I think so, the MO's right. Head sliced off, target chosen seemingly at random... Sylar is this serial killer. We have no idea who he is or why he's killing these people, but based on the fact that the last two people he's attacked were known to have superpowers, I think I can guess. It has something to do with your abilities.

"But Claire, I really need to know- why did we have to save you? More than your powers, although that might play into it... somehow. By saving you, we're supposed to have saved the world. Hiro Nakamura- the one from the present time- traveled to the future and saw a nuclear bomb destroying New York City, on November 8. And Isaac painted a mural of a huge explosion devastating the city. Which means we have three weeks before New York goes nuclear, and apparently you're somehow the key to it all."

I deliberated for a moment, wondering if I should continue with the words dangling on my tongue. It didn't take me long to decide to speak; I'd always believed firmly in a policy of complete openness whenever possible. "And... I'm really not sure about this, because he was pretty delirious when he said it, but Peter seems to think that he's somehow the bomb."

Claire's eyes widened. "Oh my god," she whispered. "How could that be possible?"

"Trust me, with the life I've lived, I've come to realize that_ nothing_ is impossible."

"But what do I have to do with it? I'm just a cheerleader. An immortal one, but still. Nothing special. I can't stop a nuclear explosion, all I can do is survive it."

I shrugged. "Trust me, I'm just as confused as you are. Maybe Niki will have answers."

"Who's Niki?"

I shook my head. "Beats me. Peter told me to find her. She lives in Las Vegas, apprently. It was the last thing he said before..."

"Before what?"

Taking a deep breath, I said it in one quick rush. "Peter might be dying. He collapsed early this morning, and he hasn't regained consciousness. They think he'll last a week- maybe two- if he doesn't wake up soon."

Claire gasped. "But... but he absorbed my power! Shouldn't he be able to heal himself?"

"You'd think so, wouldn't you?" I said dryly. "But the doctors don't have a clue what's wrong with him. I think maybe it's somehow because of his powers. Like he overloaded or something, I don't know, because physically he's perfectly fine. _He_ should be fine..." My voice caught, and I struggled to keep my eyes dry. I couldn't even think about it. It was like something was squeezing my lungs even thinking about not thinking about it.

I ran my hands through my hair in frustration, and made a quick turnabout in the conversation. "It'll all work out. But I have some questions for you," I said. "Claire, I looked up your family history yesterday, and... well, your dad works at Primatech, right?" She nodded, and I sighed. "That's... it's pretty complicated, but I'll try to sum up. My parents died when I was just a little girl, but I've recently discovered that both of them were employed, indirectly, by a Vegas mobster named Daniel Linderman. Peter's late father was also in Linderman's pocket, and his brother Nathan, who's running for Congress, is getting almost daily phone calls from him. Now, that by itself is pretty big to be a coincidence, but yesterday I figured the rest out. Primatech Paper, where your father works, is also owned by Linderman. My parents' life savings is invested in Primatech. And three days ago, I overheard a phone conversation by a woman named Eden McCain. She was talking to a 'Mr. Bennet' who was obviously her boss or her handler or something; twenty minutes later, she tried to assassinate me, apparently on her higher-ups orders. Obviously, there's some kind of conspiracy here, and given the fact that the cheerleader we were supposed to save just _happens_ to be the daughter of the man who may or may not have ordered me killed? I never really believed in coincidences anyway. That just put the final nail in the coffin, as far as I'm concerned."

Claire stared at me open-mouthed for a moment. Softly, she said, "My dad's not a paper salesman. I don't know what it is he really does, but... there's a Haitian man. He can erase people's memories. He took away my brother's, and Zack's... none of them remember about me. The Haitian was supposed to erase my memory too, but he went against my father's orders and didn't."

"Whoa. Okay, um... look, I need to talk to your dad, alright? Do you know when he'll be home?"

Claire opened her mouth to speak, but before she could say a word, the front door opened. "Claire-bear? I'm home!" came a male voice from the hall. I glanced at the cheerleader, and she shrugged.

"Oh man, what a crazy day," he said with a sigh. As he entered the living room, he slid the horn-rimmed glasses he wore off his face to rub at the bridge of his nose. He shouldn't have. If I'd seen him without them, I would never have recognized him. But I did. With a shock of realization like lightning, I leapt from the sofa.

"You!" I screamed, pointing at him. "You were there the night my parents died!"

--

**Reviews? Pretty please?**


	35. Instant Flashback

**A Note From Lara: Wow, I'd have had an update out days ago, but my internet was down for a week, and I couldn't get to the half-finished chapter I'd uploaded. *commits violence against modem* *well, not really, because that would put my internet out _again_***

--

_January 7th,_

_Twenty years ago..._

Thompson sighed. "Shame," he said, surveying the burning wreckage of the Mercedez that lay smashed against the guard rail. "I never like jobs like this."

Bennet shook his head, feeling slightly nauseated as the odor of burning flesh drifted across the freeway. He knew it'd been necessary, but he still felt guilty about it... and he hadn't even been in the car that had forced the Morten family into a spin! He and Claude were just backup, stationed along the roadside in case Thompson failed to drive them off the road. This was his first real mission with his invisible partner, and both he and Claude were ill at ease.

"This wasn't what I signed on for," the invisible man said in an undertone, so that only Bennet could hear.

He nodded. "Me either. I'm comfortable with morally grey, like I said, but this..." He gestured helplessly at the car wreck. He raised his voice to address Thompson. "Why was this necessary?" he asked. "As far as I'm aware, these people weren't dangerous."

Thompson shrugged. "The woman, Kira Morten, is the sister of one of our Company's founding members, apparently. She and her husband did occasional work for us, but apparently something's gone sour for them; they were on their way to... reveal certain things to the government, trying to get us shut down. We can't allow that to happen, obviously."

Bennet glanced at Claude, who looked even more sickened, if that were possible. "Tell me something mate," Claude said quietly. "Were they 'one of us' or 'one of them'?"

Their superior half-smiled at that. "One of each," he said. "The woman was, her husband wasn't."

"And the girl?" Bennet asked. He jerked his head toward the sobbing girl being examined by the paramedics just a few yards from the inferno.

"How should we know?" Claude said caustically. "It's too early to tell."

Confused, Bennet said, "But... what about Bishop's little girl?" The child had been brought to the Company just last week. Bennet had seen her, terrified, with bright sparks playing from her fingers.

Thompson shook his head. "Elle Bishop is the exception, not the rule. An early manifestation- not unheard of but certainly unusual. These powers don't usually manifest until the late teens, at the earliest. Although... the fact that she survived a crash that killed even her mother _would_ lend itself to suggest that she's Special."

Making up his mind, Bennet started walking. "I'm going to talk to her," he said.

"Bennet!" Claude called. "Don't--!" But it was no good. When Noah Bennet made a decision, he didn't go back on it.

The paramedics had finished their examination, and the child was left sitting miserably at the back of the ambulance while they completed their check of the motorcyclist who had been hit in the side by a piece of debris from the crash. Bennet knelt down in front of her. Her long blonde hair was soot-stained and tangled, and her face was covered with ash, but she had stopped crying and met his gaze firmly with bright green eyes.

"What's your name?" he asked.

She looked at him curiously for a moment before saying "I'm Dianne."

He smiled at her. "I'm Mr. Bennet. You're a very lucky girl, Dianne."

She cocked her eyebrow in the most sarcastic expression he had ever seen a six-year-old wear. "How?" she asked incredulously.

Bennet supposed he understood her apparent cynicism. She _had_ just lost her parents, after all. "Well, that was a very bad car accident. It's amazing that you survived... and without a scratch. Do you know how that happened?"

Dianne shrugged. "My mom did something. The purple lights, like she does sometimes. But I'm not supposed to talk about that." She clambered up into the main bay of the ambulance and turned away from him. Bennet took this as his cue to leave. Clearly, the traumatized child wasn't interested in talking to him anymore.

When he returned to where his coworkers stood amid the crowd of ogglers, he said softly, "I didn't get much out of her- she's a stubborn little thing, I think- but what she did say was that her mother did something. Do "purple lights" mean anything to you?"

Thompson nodded. "Of course," he said. "Her mother had the ability to throw force fields. Not very powerful, if spread out over a wide range. Certainly not enough to protect all three of them. But if she were to concentrate it on one small area..."

"She chose to save her daughter, rather than herself," Claude said softly.

"Apparently. Now come on, that's enough chit-chat. Claude, you know what you have to do?" Thompson said brusquely.

Claude gave him a mutinous look, but nodded, and withdrew a small device from his pocket. It looked like a bizarre cross between a staple gun, a tattooing needle, and a rubber stamp. The many-pointed tip was just an inch long, if that, and was cut in a twisting shape, like a fragmented strand of DNA, that was all too familiar to every man present. With not a word, Claude turned invisible.

Though he couldn't see him, Bennet knew he was walking casually across the crowded space to where the disconsolate orphan was sitting once more on the edge of the ambulance. Though the weather was cold even for January, the girl had taken her coat off when the paramedics were examining her, leaving only an oversized Star Wars T-shirt between her and the stinging lake effect wind. All at once, the right shoulder of her T-shirt slipped down for no reason that anyone could see. She jerked in startlement and looked behind her, but saw nothing. Of course. All at once, she jerked again and let out a soft cry of pain as Claude injected her with the ultraviolet dye that would be invisible (much like the man applying it) unless exposed to a blacklight.

Sixty seconds later, Claude was back. "Alright mate, the deed's done. Now let's get the hell out of here, I'm freezing my ass off."

--

_The Present..._

It took everything I had to keep myself in place and avoid hurling myself at Bennet. Here it was at last, confirmation that I wasn't completely crazy. Bennet had been there the night my parents died, he worked for Primatech (and thus for Linderman), he was the one who had ordered my death last week. He could be the key to all of this.

"I'm sorry," he said mildly. "I believe you must have me confused with someone else. I don't know you."

"Bullshit," I said. "There might be twenty years between then and now, and I may have changed a lot, but you were _there_. I remember now... but you didn't have the glasses, then."

"What are you talking about?" Claire asked, staring back and forth between her father and myself.

I narrowed my eyes. "What is it that you do at that little "paper factory" of yours?" I asked, making airquotes. "Who the hell is Eden, and why did you have her try to kill me? What's all this about?"

Bennet simply smiled, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, Miss... uh?"

"Morten. Dianne Morten." I saw the slight tightening around his eyes at my name, and I knew that I was right in my guess. It was him, all right.

"Miss Morten. But I just don't know what you're talking about. I'm just a paper salesman, and I don't know any Eden."

My patience had already been stretched to the edge; what with... well, everything that was going on with Peter, the upheaval that had already been going on in my life, and the intrigue of Primatech, I was at the breaking point. Ignoring Claire's yell of shock, I hurled myself at Bennet and slammed him up against the wall.

"I know you're connected to all of this," I hissed, jamming my forearm against his throat to keep him pinned. "What I don't know is how, and what exactly your agenda is. I am here to try to stop a fucking nuclear bomb, Mr. Bennet. And you're somehow the one piece of the puzzle I need to figure out where to go from here. So tell me what I want to know, or I can crush your windpipe easier than you can say 'Primatech.'"

Claire pulled at my shoulder, trying to get me to release him. "What are you doing?" she exclaimed.

I suddenly realized that this was exactly what I had seen in Isaac's painting- me attacking a man with horn-rimmed glasses, and a blonde girl attempting to stop me. "Get off, Claire," I said in a tense voice. "I need answers. My best friend is lying in a hospital bed, and this man- your _father_- might be the only way I can get answers to what the hell is going on."

Bennet's hand was creeping along the wall toward the underside of the bookshelf. I caught the motion, and rammed my knee into his wrist. He gasped in pain, and quickly snapped the hand back to his side.

"I'm not asking for much. Just tell me what I need to know." Sudden inspiration struck me. "What do you know about Sylar?" I saw the twitch, and knew I'd struck true. I released him, taking a step back. "Alright, so clearly you know that name. Who is he?"

Claire looked at me. "What are you talking about? I thought Sylar was the man who attacked me at homecoming--?"

I nodded. "And apparently he knows something about him. I intend to find out what. Mr. Bennet, I used to do work as a vigilante. My specialty was taking down serial killers. What's one more? Especially one who killed a friend of mine?"

Bennet sighed, and ran a hand over his face. "We have Sylar contained in Primatech," he said.

"Dad?" Claire whispered, shocked.

My eyes narrowed. "I want to see him," I said. Bennet met my gaze, but I turned up the intensity of my glare, attempting to burn right through his skull. Finally, he dropped his eyes.

"Fine," he said quietly. "But it will be dangerous. If anyone finds out I brought you into a Company facility... things could get very complicated."

I nodded, then glanced at Claire. "Claire, I'm sorry I couldn't stay any longer and explain things, but I have to do this, okay? Listen, I'm going to be in Las Vegas for about a week, to find Niki Sanders. After that I'll be going back to New York. If you need any help, if this guy brings his work home, so to speak, come to me. My friends and I can protect you from him or anyone else who's causing you trouble."

She nodded, eyes huge. "I... what's happening? Why is everything in my life based on a lie?"

"I don't know," I said. "I've taken to blaming Daniel Linderman for everything that goes wrong in my life. But if I were _you_, I'd blame _him_." I jerked a thumb at Bennet, who glared at me.

--

_Las Vegas_

_Bellmonte Correctional Facility For Women_

Niki stared through the glass at her son and husband, hardly hearing the words that were pouring from DL's mouth. She just drank in the sight of them, knowing that they were doing okay, that they were safe. Safer than they had been, at any rate. With Jessica around, no one was safe...

"Baby?"

She shook her head, suddenly realizing that DL had asked her something. "What? Sorry..."

He smiled, but she could tell it was forced. "I was just askin' how you're doing. You've been worried about us the whole time we've been here."

Niki smiled absently, plucking at her orange prison uniform. "I'm okay," she said. "Mostly just bored. But whenever they try to ease me off the drugs... Well, I start losing track of time again. The drugs put her beneath the surface, they make it easier to keep her inside, but whenever they start to wear off..." She bit her lip, trying to hide the terror she always felt when she was contemplating her vicious alter-ego. "When they start to wear off, she comes out and tries to break us out of here..."

He shook his head. "That's because you _shouldn't_ be in here."

"DL, she's hurt people! Bad. There are a couple of guards... Look, I'm not safe to be around right now, okay? Please, I need you to take good care of Micah. He needs his father right now."

The dark-skinned man shook his head, meeting her eyes through the glass. "No," he said. "He needs his mom. He needs you. We both need you, Niki. We're gonna get you outta here."

She tried to protest, but nothing she said made any difference. DL was going to do everything in his power to get her out, and nothing she did would change that. _ And considering this was a man who could literally reach through walls_, Jessica considered gleefully from the back of their mind, _that was really quite a lot._

_Shut up,_ Niki hissed to her. _Get out of my head._

All the while she was talking to Micah, she managed to keep the suddenly strong Jessica at bay, but once her son and husband were once again gone, the other side of her rose up with unexpected ferocity, and suddenly it was Niki in the reflective surface of the glass. She could only watch helplessly from the inside as Jessica made yet another bid for freedom, knocking out a dozen of the guards before they were both rendered unconscious by the soft kiss of a hypodermic...

--

**Meh, it's a little shorter than some past chapters, but I assume you'll all get over it and review, yes?**


	36. Veni Vidi Vici Dianne Style

**A Note From Lara: Once again, my internet was down for several days. So I had this really productive writing day on Tuesday, but despite the new and [supposedly] better modem, I couldn't post anything. But better late than never, I guess.**

--

Bennet lead me into the Primatech headquarters through a side door. As we entered a long, sterile hallway, I felt my spine trying to crawl out through my skin. The hall was lit by a long line of paired halogen tubes, and a couple down at the far end were flickering ominously. Everything was painted white, except the dark blue carpeting. "Acceptably creepy," I commented dryly. "I like it."

He glared at me. "I don't appreciate you confusing my daughter when you don't really know the truth yourself," he said.

I raised an eyebrow. "Then _tell_ me the truth. I've been digging into this conspiracy, this _Company_, for nearly two months, and I'm no nearer to figuring out how you're all tied in with what's happening in New York than I was when I started, except that I've confirmed that you _are_."

"And just what is this big mystery in New York?" he asked, trying to appear nonchalant. He very nearly succeeded. If it had been anyone else, if I hadn't already been set on edge and humming with adrenaline, I wouldn't have been paying as close attention to his little body signals. But I picked up the tiny deepening of the little creases at the corners of his eyes, and the slight forward tilt of his torso that indicated that he was as eager for his answer as I was for mine.

Choosing to follow his lead and be enigmatic rather than helpful, I said, "You get your answer after I get mine. Take me to see Sylar, like you said. If you've really got him here, that shouldn't be too big a deal..." I gave him a look that suggested I thought he might be lying. He probably wasn't, but it would help my cause if I could get him ruffled. Angry people made mistakes.

He sighed, adjusting his horn-rimmed glasses. "Fine," he said. "I can manage five minutes, I think, before anyone checks the security cameras and realizes that you're not supposed to be here."

"We'd better get going, then."

After a confusing series of twisting hallways and unexpected stairwells, he had lead me into what I was fairly sure was a secret level several floors beneath what everyone knew as Primatech Paper. One final, short staircase, whose walls were marked with _Level Five_ in bright red letters, and then we had arrived at what I assumed was their holding-cell-slash-torture-chamber area.

Bennet approached the first door on the right and swiped his keycard through the electronic lock. The light turned green, and he pulled the door open, ushering me inside first. I proceeded cautiously, all my instincts alert for a trap. Hey, I wouldn't put it past Bennet to screw me over like that.

But what I fwas expecting and what I found were two entirely different things, and I was so surprised that I temporarily froze. The observation window had been shattered, and Eden McCain, of all people, had been dragged through it headfirst through it by a man I assumed must be Sylar. A gun tilted in her shaking hand, and he laughed. "Oh Eden, you know you can't hurt _me_."

The sound of his voice, so confident and smooth, jolted me into action, and I threw myself across the room, intending to break her out of his grasp, but before I had gotten halfway to where she lay partway through the window, she pulled the trigger. Bennet yelled something, Sylar snarled in rage, and blood spattered across the cracked glass. Eden's blood.

She had shot herself. Why?

But I didn't have the time to think about it before my momentum carried me smashing past her limp body to place a well-aimed flying kick against Sylar's head. Caught off-guard, he was knocked backward and smashed his spine against the raised cot in the center of his cell. I landed half on top of him but rolled away, dropping into a defensive crouch to prepare for his counter-attack. It didn't come.

Sylar was slumped against the floor, clearly stunned. He groaned faintly and put his hand up to the his jaw where I had kicked him.

I rose to my feet and glanced back at where Bennet was standing just inside the room. "_This_ is your Sylar?" I asked incredulously. "Come on. If the rumors are true, he's left a dozen bodies or more scattered across the country, but you can take him out this easily?"

He didn't answer. Instead he stepped aside to allow a dark-skinned man who appeared to be Dominican, or perhaps Haitian, to enter the room. The man came to stand next to the shattered observation window. Once he was stationed there, Bennet approached and pulled Eden's bloodstained body out of the window.

I looked down at Sylar, who had finally got his wind back. "Who are you?" I asked.

"My name is Sylar," he said, wiping a few drops of blood off his lips.

"Yeah, I know that," I muttered with a frown. "I mean what's your _real _name? Your mother definitely didn't name you Sylar."

He glared at me, getting shakily back to his feet. I was unnerved to discover that he was significantly taller than me. I was used to being at least on eye level with almost everyone. "Sylar _is_ my real name."

Bennet chose this moment to volunteer, "His name is Gabriel Gray."

Gabriel, or Sylar, or whoever he was, turned to shoot Bennet a hate-filled stare that I swear could have rivaled even my death glare. I was mildly impressed.

"You killed my friend Sam," I said, drawing his black eyes back to mine. "Why? What did you want with her?"

He smirked. "The same thing I always want. Power. I take away what they have that they don't deserve."

"By slicing open their heads?"

Sylar nodded. "I have to see their brains. I have to study them, to understand how it works. Would you like to know what pretty little Samantha did?" Without waiting for my response he pressed on. "She could freeze things- anything- with just a touch of her hand. She was quite an ice queen. I would show you, if that Haitian weren't standing there, cutting me off."

Anger bubbled up in me even as I glanced at the referenced Haitian. He had killed Sam... because she had a power. He killed her to... what? To slice open her head and look at her brains and figure out how her power worked so that he could do it for himself? That was just _sick_.

I struggled to keep myself from attacking him again, and he stood there silently, studying me. Bennet seemed afraid to approach the cell, and I felt my disgust for him rise a little more.

By the time I had restrained my bloodlust, Sylar was watching me with a puzzled expression on his face. "You aren't like them," he said, indicating Bennet and the Haitian. "They're afraid to come near me without thick glass and the Haitian's powers keeping us separated. You're not."

"I'm not afraid of _anything_," I said intensely. It was more or less a lie, but he didn't need to know that.

His eyes flickered from me to the hole in the window and I saw him tense his legs to prepare for a bid for freedom. "If you're thinking about using this opportunity to run," I said conversationally, "I'd think twice. You rely a lot on your powers, don't you? And... the Haitian blocks those, doesn't he?" It was the only logical conclusion after what he'd said about the man. "Without your abilities, you're not really much of anything, are you? Now, me, I don't really need any powers. I do just fine without them, as you already found out." I indicated his split lip and swelling jaw. "If you try to escape, I can put you down faster than one of Bennet's bullets." Also probably a lie. I was fast, but certainly not that fast. But it was close enough to the truth to count.

Sylar narrowed his eyes. "You... work for him?" he jerked his head toward Bennet.

I shook my head. "Nope. Not a chance. But in this case, his interests and mine intersect... surprisingly. He's quite pleased with himself for keeping you locked up here. As for me, you killed one friend, and pretty damn near killed another one last night."

"The hero at the high school?" he guessed.

I nodded. "Yeah. Peter's off-limits. Sam's murder, fine. Maybe I would have let you get away just now if it was just that. It would have been good just to piss _him_ off." I indicated Bennet. "But once you messed with Peter... well, I'd be as happy to see you become roadkill as anything right now. You just be glad he can heal, or I'd do the honors myself right now. Consider yourself warned, Gabriel Gray. Next time you mess with my friends, I'm taking you out."

Climbing out of the window, bravely (or stupidly) turning my back on the shocked serial killer, I reflected on what exactly it was I had just done. Maybe the bravado was a bit much. But it was a tactic that had worked well in the past, particularly against one Lex Luthor. Serial killers tended to be as much megalomaniacs as Lex had been. I didn't see any reason why it wouldn't work just as well on Sylar.

As I stepped out of the cell, the Haitian descended into it, moving with a silent eerie grace that instantly made me wary of him. I sensed that he could be a great ally or a powerful enemy. Sylar apparently felt it too, because he backed hurriedly away from the Haitian, allowing himself to be driven into a corner before the dark-skinned man placed his hand over his eyes. The serial killer was driven to the ground, apparently unconscious.

I glanced at Bennet. "Cell transfer?" I asked. The bespectacled man nodded sharply, staring at the body still lying on the floor. I followed his gaze.

She lay, a crumpled broken form, delicate like a china doll, against the dark concrete. Her dark eyes, so like Tanya's, were thankfully closed. Her short cap of curls was matted to her head by her own blood, and streaks of it ran down her face, painting her pale cheeks crimson.

It was horrible, knowing that she had been alive just minutes ago, and if I had been just a little faster, I might have saved her.

Though I couldn't quite bring it in me to forgive Eden for trying to kill me (presumably on Bennet's orders), I realized that I felt very sorry for her. Now that I knew a little more about Sylar, I understood why she had shot herself. Eden had the power of persuasion, the ability to twist anyone into doing anything she wanted them to do. Sylar had been about to headslice her when we came into the room. She had killed herself to keep him from gaining an extremely dangerous ability. She got my respect for that. It had been the honorable, brave thing to do.

The Haitian had finished whatever it was he was doing to Sylar, and pulled a syringe full of pale blue liquid out of his pocket, injecting it into his neck. The already unconscious serial killer went even more limp, if that was possible.

"Alright," I said, looking back at Bennet. He had clearly cared about Eden. I was intruding here. "I... guess I probably need to go now." I still didn't really trust Bennet, but I also could see that they really were trying to do a good thing here. At least, if keeping psychos like Sylar locked up was all they did. Somehow, I didn't think it was, but there was really not much I could do about it right now.

However, I did add a note to the bottom of my mental To Do List. _Investigate Sylar: check. Stop nuclear bomb: working on it Take down mysterious secret organization masquerading as paper company: if I don't die in said bomb._

But Bennet shook his head. "Miss Morten, I have the highest respect for you, but I can't let you leave. If anyone finds out you were here, and I let you leave without having the Haitian wipe your memory, all my actions would become suspect. If that happens, they could find out about Claire, and then all that I have done to keep her safe is for nothing. I can't let that happen."

Double-crossing sonofabitch! Had he just lured me here so he could wipe my brain clean of whatever he thought I knew?

I took a step back from him, only to bump into the Haitian, who had somehow crept up behind me without my realizing it. His hand crept over my eyes, just as I had seen him do to Sylar. Before he could do... whatever he was going to do, I rammed my heel upward, jabbing him right between the legs.

He let out a groan and doubled over, holding his crotch where I had kicked him. Smirking, I said, "No one takes Dianne Morten alive!" Then I whirled and sprinted out of the room, praying I would remember my way out from the twisting bowels of Primatech.

Before I had gone a hundred yards through the confusing corridors, an alarm blared, and warning lights began to flash all up and down the hall. "Shit," I muttered. "Damn him."

I could hear shouts and running footsteps just around the corner. If anyone found me, the jig was up, because pretty much everyone in the building knew their way around better than me. There was no way I'd be able to escape once spotted.

Without thinking, I darted into the nearest room, behind a door marked _Records_. Slamming the door shut, I leaned against it, breathing hard from anxiety and listening to the footsteps pound past my hiding place. Once the sounds had passed by, I relaxed slightly.

But I still wasn't safe. Until they had either caught me or searched every corner of the building, they wouldn't give up. At least, if they were any _decent_ sort of secret organization, they wouldn't. I had to find a way to escape, and venturing out into the corridors didn't seem like the wisest idea right now. Glancing around the room, I spied a ventilation shaft in the upper part of the only wall devoid of filing cabinets.

Was I insane? This was so cliched it wasn't even _funny_. But at the same time...

Five minutes later, I had pushed the desk that occupied the center of the room over to the wall, and was standing on it industriously setting about unscrewing the grille that covered the vent opening. Once it had popped off, I ascertained that I could, in fact, fit inside the shaft. I thanked god that all the hours of training with Bruce had kept me slim, or it would have been an extremely tight fit.

Just as I was about to push into the vent, I spotted a short stack of files sitting on the desk I was standing on. The stamp on the top one caught my eye- Peter Petrelli. They had a file on _Peter_? There were two files beneath his, and I immediately grabbed them up into my arms.

The door I had thoughtfully blocked with a pair of heavy cabinets rattled. Without wasting another second, I dove into the shaft and set about army-crawling my way out of Primatech...

--

Matt Parkman and Audrey Hanson sat in her Honda, watching the front doors of Primatech. "Since when does an absence of noise warrant a stakeout?" she asked snarkily, though he could tell that she wasn't really as irritated as she sounded.

"Shut up and eat your Tex-mex," he joked, thrusting a burrito into her hands.

She smiled ruefully at him, and an errant thought crossed her mind, zipping into his as it did so. _I gotta say, he can be cute..._ And after a moment, _Oh god, did he just hear that?_

"Did you just read my mind?" she asked.

He released the laughter he had been restraining, and she hit him in the arm. "You can't--! That was a stray thought, it didn't... You can't just... you can't do that." She glared at him, but he just kept chuckling.

"You really think I'm 'cute'?" he asked.

She was about to reply when the grill covering a ventilation opening about twelve feet off the ground suddenly shot off. A dark-haired girl came tumbling out, falling head-over-heels all the way to the ground. Rolling the landing, she jumped to her feet, rubbing her shoulder. Once she had regained her balance, she took off running with the manilla folders she was holding clutched to her chest.

Whoever she was, she tore past the Honda, pausing only for a fraction of an instant to stare at them with a pair of wide blue eyes, and then she disappeared, streaking away at a dead sprint down the street away from Primatech.

Audrey looked strangely at Parkman, in a did-I-just-see-what-I-think-I-saw sort of way. "Wasn't that... Peter Petrelli's friend? The one who wouldn't leave us alone last night until we let her in to see him?"

Parkman nodded slowly, staring after the girl. "Weird," he muttered. But his attention was suddenly distracted by the front doors of Primatech swinging open to let a pair of men out. One of them was Bennet, who was the cause of his suspicion. And the other... The other was the Haitian man he had seen that night at the bar, right before he lost a day of his life. Forcing past the block of mental static, he managed to pull one word out of Bennet's head before he was repelled with a shock hard enough to give him a nosebleed.

"Did you get anything?" Audrey asked.

He nodded. "Just one word. _Sylar_."

--

**Another Note From Lara: Woo-hoo. Personally, I think this was a pretty good chapter. Normally, I'm not very happy with how chapters for WTRL turn out, but this one I really like. Maybe it's just because Sylar was in it and Sylar is SO FREAKING BADASS!!!! Except I guess he kinda got pwned a lot in this chapter....**

**Whatever. Review.**


	37. Journey

**A Note From Lara: I hate Texas, you know that? I really, _really_ hate Texas. I've driven across it way too many times. It is flat. It is boring. There are way too many cattle. There are way too few people, especially in the Panhandle. And where it is not flat/boring/cattle-ridden, it is near the Gulf of Mexico and it is humid and unpleasant and smells like oil. I prefer Arizona. Arizona is pretty.**

--

I sprinted the thirty blocks to the highway, and by the time I arrived I was gasping and out of breath. My lungs burned and there was nothing I wanted more than to throw myself down on what passed for grass in this godforsaken place and catch my breath. "No time to be weak," I hissed, putting a hand to the stitch in my side. They'd have realized by now that I'd found my way out of Primatech and more than likely they'd be sending people to find me. I set off at a quick jog down the highway, heading for the place where I'd hidden my duffel bag in the bushes before going to see Claire.

Once I reached it, I slowed my pace but I was still prepared to dive for cover in the mesquite along the road at any sign of pursuit. The hot Texas sun beat down on me and I wondered for perhaps the millionth time that day why anyone in their right mind would live here. I loved the glowing red deserts of Nex Mexico, but this flat, colorless land was nothing like that at all.

After having gone a few miles, I decided I was reasonably safe for the time being. I sat down on the embankment at the side of the road and took stock of my situation. I was thousands of miles from home, and planning on going further on a half-conscious mumble and a hunch. I had a mysterious and extremely powerful organization hunting me. How did I get into these situations?

On the other hand, I did have the majority of my gear with me. That had to count for something. Although at this point, I'd rather have had the Bat-cycle. I pulled my wallet out from the side pocket of the bag and flipped through it. I had just shy of a hundred dollars in there, for which I was infinitely thankful. Sure it wasn't much, but I could get to Vegas on that, provided I ate cheap. Looked like plenty of McDonalds for me in the immediate future.

I tucked the short stack of files I had nicked into the bag and zipped it up again. I stood up, intending to start walking again.

The low hum of tires on pavement reached my ears. I turned around and peered through the glare from the windshield to get a good look at the driver of the moving van that was approaching. He was a red-faced middle aged man and looked fairly trustworthy. I stuck out my thumb.

He pulled over. "Where you headed, Miss?" he asked.

I smiled. "Las Vegas."

"I'm headed that way. I can take you at least part way," he said, returning my smile with one of his own. I climbed into the cab of the van. "Name's Bill Matherty," he said, sticking out a pudgy hand.

I shook it. "Dianne," I replied, deciding to give only my first name. He pulled away from the ditch and headed away, not seeming inclined to speak any more.

--

It was getting dark when he stopped at a small motel just off the highway. We'd crossed most of Texas, and I assumed we were somewhere in the Panhandle. Bill glanced at me. "You gonna stick around tonight or keep movin'?" he asked.

With a shrug, I said, "I have to keep going. What I'm doing... it's important." I used a few quarters to buy a pair of water bottles from the vending machine outside the motel office and shouldered my bag. And I turned and walked away from the motel, out into the desert.

Most of the heat of the day had faded away, though a steady warmth still rose up from the golden sand beneath my feet. The narrow strip of blacktop that comprised the highway nearly baked the air in comparison, however, and I stuck with walking through the rougher ground to one side for the time being.

I watched the last vestiges of crimson light gleaming off the steep sides of the mesas that lined the horizon, keeping my eyes glued on the tiniest sliver of the sun's disk that still showed. Maybe if I just kept walking, I could go fast enough to race the sun, catch up to it as it tried to drop past the horizon out of view.

One by one the stars came out, and the sky faded from violet to darkest blue to a deep, velvet navy. Not truly black, though. The moon would rise to continue its chase of the sun soon enough, and enough of its light preceded it to keep the sky just a shade above pitch.

As the heat leeched out of the land, the moon finally began to show itself. I glanced back at it, marvelling at how big it was. It had been months since I'd really looked at the sky. In New York, light pollution drowned out the stars and the moon was robbed of its shimmer and made sallow from the smog. But here, in the cooling desert, it shimmered and gleamed like a new quarter.

I checked my watch. It was past midnight. I was tired physically, but I'd been tired before. My common sense told me that I needed to rest tonight if I was going to keep walking tomorrow, but I've always been very good at ignoring common sense. Peter needed me to do this. I didn't know why, but I owed it to him to do this. Pulling the strap of my bag more firmly over my shoulder, I downed a single mouthful of water from one of the bottles and set off resolutely, determined to walk until my feet fell off, if necessary.

An hour or so later, I finally conceded defeat. I might be able to keep on like this at night for a few days, but I couldn't keep travelling during the days. It was October, which meant it would be cooler during the day than usual, but it would still get up into the eighties, with a bright sun more than likely. Much though I liked to think of myself as indestructible, I knew that nobody could keep up more than one day under conditions like that. I'd have to keep hitching rides, and I'd have to actually sleep.

With that decided, I moved off the road right then and there. Once I had found a suitable patch of sparse bushes, I curled up underneath it, not even bothering to take off my shoes. I pulled my jacket out of my bag and rolled it up for a pillow. Then I pulled out the tiny pocket flashlight I kept with me most of the time and pulled out the first of the files I had taken from Primatech. Peter's file.

--

It was nearly three a.m. when I finished going through all the print materials in Peter's file. There were a couple of discs inside as well, but until I could find a couple of gadgets of mine, stashed away in the bag, I wouldn't be able to look at those.

I clicked off the light and rolled over onto my back, my mind whirling. What I had read was... insane. There wasn't much in his file, not compared to the thickness of the other two, but what was there made me sick. _Empathic mimicry_ was what they called his power, and apparently it wasn't common. Empaths like Peter did crop up occasionally, but not one of them was able to keep control of more than four or five powers at once. There had been experiments to try and increase this capacity in an empath they'd captured six years ago, but the crisp records stated that they "hadn't gone well." I interpreted this to mean that the poor guy had died.

But Peter... they had done blood tests on him as an infant (which confirmed my suspicions regarding the connection between the Petrellis and Daniel Linderman) which had determined that he was likely to become extremely powerful, even as empaths went. They couldn't find an upper limit to the number of powers he would be able to absorb. There was a memo from omeone named Thompson who had wanted to keep him at the Primatech facility until his abilities manifested. However, a reply at the bottom of the note insisted that "the boy" be left to develop on his own. The reply was signed C.D.

I had a tremendous amount of respect and gratitude for C.D. I didn't know who he was, though I made a mental note to find out, but he had done me a huge favor without even knowing it. A world with no Peter- or rather, a Peter completely different from the man I knew now- was hardly comprehensible.

Yet, his abilities weren't the extent of it. _Someone_ had used the ability of various precogs to discover the New York explosion long before we ever heard of it, and although most of the details were omitted, I was able to glean that Peter was somehow at the heart of it all. How that was, I couldn't figure out from the bits and pieces in the file, but I knew that he was.

It gave me a lot to think about, and by the time my mind finally settled enough for me to drift into sleep, the sky was beginning to pale on the eastern horizon.

--

I woke up with sand in my mouth. Spitting disgustedly, I wiped at my lips with the back of my hand in an attempt to brush away the remaining grit. I blinked at the bright sun cutting down through the branches of the mesquite bushes. Taking a swig of water and determining that I was going to ignore the twinge of hunger in my stomach, I crawled out from under the bush and pulled myself to my feet.

The heat hit me in the face the moment I was out from under my spindly bit of shade. It probably wasn't as hot as it seemed, but I had gotten used to the cool temperatures in New York quickly.

I checked my watch. It was almost ten in the morning. I'd missed a lot of travel time. After another swallow from the water bottle, I hefted my bag and set off at a quick walk down the side of the road.

Several times cars passed me. I stuck my thumb out each time to no avail; no one seemed willing to stop for a dusty girl on the side of the road. The one time I didn't attempt to hitch a ride was when a police cruiser went by, but I might actually have had better luck if I had. As they went shooting by, I caught a glimpse of a face staring back at me. It was the face of the same officer I had seen outside Primatech yesterday, the one who Peter thought might be able to read minds. The brief flash I saw of him made me wonder what had happened to him in the hours since I had last spotted him. He looked as if his whole life had come crashing down around him.

But I couldn't dwell on it for long, and though the cruiser later passed me again, this time going the other way, I didn't care much. I did recognize the woman driving as the FBI agent who had been at Sam's murder scene. She must be investigating Sylar, I though. It was too much of a coincidence. I screamed the name in my head. If Parkman could read minds, that ought to bring them running. But nothing came of it, and I forgot the incident.

Around noon, a thought occurred to me. Pulling my phone out, I dialed a number I had programmed in just the day before. It rang twice before Ando answered. "Hello? Ando?" I asked hurriedly.

"Yes. Dianne?"

"It's me," I said. "How did your meeting with Isaac go?" He told me, explaining the paintings of Hiro with a sword, and, more troubling, about the exploding man.

That triggered something in me, though I had no idea what. "Exploding man?" I said. "We're trying to stop a bomb, and it turns out to be a _person_? And just when I thought I'd seen everything." Ando made a noncommital noise. "Listen," I said, "I needed to ask Hiro something. He said that he was in the future and saw New York explode. Does he know what day it happens? Just so we have a timetable for when this happens?"

There was a brief chatter of muffled Japanese on the other end of the line, and then Ando was back. "He says November 8."

November eighth. The day after the Congressional election. What kind of significance did that have? "Okay," I said. "I'm on my way to Las Vegas. I'm looking for somebody named Niki. Keep in touch, will you? Let us know how you're coming with... whatever you're doing. Somehow I think we're all in this together."

I was about to hang up when Ando burst out, "Niki? You are looking for Niki Sanders?"

"Yeah," I said slowly. If Ando knew this girl, I was going to have to take drastic measures. There was just too much not-a-coincidence in my life lately. "Do you know her?"

"She is a... stripper," he replied slowly. "She run a website. I visited her before we came to Texas."

Frantically, I said, "Ando, what's the address. Do you remember her address?"

He gave me the house number. "Thank you, Ando," I said. "You've just made my life significantly easier. I'll hopefully see you guys in New York, alright?"

We said goodbye and I hung up. This was too much. Everything was coming together. Claire, Peter, Isaac, Hiro and Ando, and now even the mysterious Niki had her own ties to our little group? Everyone had their place in the picture that was emerging right before my eyes.

Well, everyone but me. I was the tagalong best friend. That had been my role before, and it was one I could accept with reasonable grace, but just this once I wished I could be important. Barry Allen had told me, before he brought me back to this universe, that I was. He'd said that he had "a sense" before he took me away all those years ago, that I was special. That I would be needed, and that I needed the pain and miracles and revelation that other world would bring me to _be_ the one needed. But he had been wrong. Peter was important. Hiro was important. Claire was absolutely freaking essential, if Hiro-from-the-future was right. Even the crazed serial killer I had confronted yesterday seemed to have a part to play, somehow. But not me.

I could live with that. I could be their cheerleader and watch and applaud as they saved the world, and help whenever I could. I could do my small part and be content with that. It had been a long time since the days when I dreamed of having fire and glory for myself. That was what I had learned in that otherworld- that fire and glory is bullshit. It's never as glamorous as it looked before I experienced it. I had chosen a mundane life (not that I was likely to get it). And it was this world I had chosen, two months ago, when I had decided to come home.

Or rather, what I hoped was home. I didn't really understand what home was. All I knew was that I had felt a _call_ to come back here too powerful to ignore. And I had followed it. I was glad I had. It wasn't as mundane as I'd been expecting, but I'd found something better than I'd ever had back there. I had friends, real friends I'd made for myself, not ones who had simply fallen into my life because I happened to know Clark Kent. I had Peter.

My mind shied away from that thought. Thinking about him brought up in a rush the last time I had seen him, lying frighteningly still in the hospital. I didn't want to remember him that way. I was going to make better memories later, when he woke up.

A car came rushing down the highway, dragging me out of my morose speculation. Tiredly I stuck out my thumb and the car skidded to a halt. The woman in the front seat tossed her cigarette down on the road and said, "Well come on. Get in then." I did so. "Where ya headed?" she asked.

"Vegas."

She laughed. "Vegas, huh? Well, it's not really on my way, but I can get you as far as New Mexico."

I thanked her and turned to stare out the window, watching as the mesas on the horizon drew nearer and the desert floor turned from dusty yellow to oranges and gleaming reds. After several hours, we passed a sign saying "Welcome to New Mexico." She drove on for awhile longer before pulling up a ramp to an overpass. "This is as far as I can take you," she said. "It's this highway here I need to take, and you gotta stick with the one we just came off of, 'kay? You'll have to catch another ride from here."

I nodded and hopped out of the car. Once the door was closed behind me, she took off in a squeal of rubber. I watched her go, then returned to my road and continued walking on, hoping my water would last me until the next highway rest stop.

--

**Another Note From Lara: And C.D. who was mentioned in Peter's file is, of course, Charles Deveaux. The only one of the Company founders who isn't COMPLETELY FCKED UP IN THE HEAD!!!!!!! *coughs* Erm... yeah. Any chance of reviews?**


	38. Message from the Afterlife

**A Note From Lara: I can't believe how many of you guessed my little secret. It wasn't an important plot point, just something I threw in there because I love the random connections that cropped up in first season, how they were all related in these tiny ways they didn't know about... And this is my own version of this. So thank you all you wonderful, wonderful, insightful people. :)**

--

I found myself in Tucumcari, New Mexico, before my stomach loudly announced that it was time to make up for all the meals I had missed over the last few days. My water supply had also run out, and I was burning with thirst. My shoulder ached from carrying my gear-heavy bag, and my mouth tasted like dust. I made a beeline for the nearest McDonalds. I ordered my usual high-calorie artery-clogger and two bottles of water. When it arrived, dripping grease onto my tray, I hurried over to a secluded table and opened the next file, stamped "Meredith Gordon."

As I flipped open the file, my eye was drawn to the picture held inside by a paper clip. She was a pretty, middle-aged woman with curly blonde hair and striking green eyes. She was the woman who had given me a ride yesterday. I was hard-pressed to keep my jaw from dropping open and allowing the bite of Big Mac to fall out. I suddenly deeply wished I had started last night with this file, rather than Peter's. It was just too ironic to be believed. Quickly, I scanned the rest of the file, taking in the vital information about her- she had the ability of pyrokinesis, and had once been a Company agent before betraying Thompson (this guy just kept popping up!) to help her brother.

But there was something earlier in the file, before all this fascinating information, that caught my attention. It was a note from that same Thompson who had brought her in, who had wanted to keep Peter as some kind of tame specimen, added to her file about seventeen years ago. _Relationship between Petrelli and Gordon confirmed. _ And a little further down the page:_ Gordon's pregnancy confirmed. Expected to be the child Mr. L predicted._ In a hasty scrawl next to this note in red pen was one word: _Cheerleader?_

I narrowed my eyes. What did this mean? Meredith had a child? A daughter who was a cheerleader? Now this was just too big a coincidence to really be a coincidence. And Mr. L couldn't be anyone but Linderman. I closed my eyes, comparing my mental image of Claire to the picture of Meredith on the page. Yes, there was enough resemblance that what I suspected could be possible.

And a relationship between _Petrelli_ and Gordon? Based on the information in the file, Meredith would have been in her early twenties seventeen years ago. That seemed to rule out Peter- he had only been in his early teens at the time. And Arthur Petrelli had been many things, I was sure, a white-collar criminal among them, but I didn't think he was a cheating man on top of it. Which left... Nathan. I slammed the file shut, my mind humming with shock. I desperately wished Peter was here so that I had someone to talk this new information out with. Or even just to be my sounding board; Peter was extremely good at just letting me rant and listening intently. It was at least one of the thousands of reasons I had fallen for him.

Jerking my mind away from that dangerous train of thought, I finished my hamburger and hurried out of the McDonalds, looking for a convenient bush to spend the night under. I had already spent too much money today buying dinner to even consider a motel. I still had Arizona and most of New Mexico still to cross before I was anywhere near Las Vegas, and not a whole lot of money to do it. People forget that you don't actually need modern conveniences to get by. You don't have to sleep in a bed. Under a hedge does just fine, and it's significantly cheaper.

On the far edge of town, I found a convenient patch of desert juniper and curled up underneath, watching the last rays of the sun fade out above me. My eyes slid closed...

_Clammy violet hands clutched at my throat..._

_The life draining out of me, a stream of light leaving me and flowing into him..._

_Falling into darkness..._

_Breaking against the face of the void..._

_Drowning..._

I sat up with a loud scream, clutching my chest. For a moment, I was disoriented, still trapped in the black nothing of my nightmare. Then I spied the moon above me and recalled where I was. The position of the half-crescent suggested that it had been many hours since I went to sleep. I wrapped my arms around my legs, resting my chin on my knees with a sigh, leaning back against the rough trunk of the juniper bush. It had been several days since I'd endured the torments of the dreams. I had started to hope that maybe my heart-to-heart with Peter had driven it out permanently, but no such luck, apparently.

Bitterness wasn't an emotion I wanted to color any aspect of my time in Smallville and Gotham, but I was dangerously close to looking at those few breathless hours in Lex's basement-slash-torture cell with the Parasite through a screen of bitter regret. I had been changed by that whole event, and not just in the physical aspect of my eyes. Some part of me had gotten lost. It had prompted me to find myself and become a better person, but something was still missing. I didn't know how, and I had never heard of the Parasite having this psychological effect on his victims, but there it was.

Lying back onto the warm ground, I attempted to fall back to sleep. But every time I closed my eyes, I saw Raymond Jenkins creeping towards me, mottled-purple hands reaching for me. I rode out the fear that rose up and choked me long enough to block out the visions, but every time I did, there would be a rock digging into my spine or my position was uncomfortable. My eyes would pop open again as I shifted, and when I closed them again, the Parasite was back.

Finally, I just gave up, pulling the final file out of my bag. To my amazement, it was Sylar's file. I skimmed the first few documents detailing the Company's watch over the interaction between Chandra Suresh and Gabriel Gray, a humble watchmaker from Queens. I was simultaneously fascinated by transcripts of conversations between them that had taken place in Suresh's bugged apartment and disgusted by them. Chandra struck me as a cold, emotionless man who didn't see people as_ people _but test subjects. He had callously _used_ the man who would become Sylar, nothing more than a way to further his research. As for Gabriel... as strange as it was, I understood him. He felt so isolated, so insignificant, feeling that he was meant for something more but not seeing any opportunity to live it. I knew that feeling all too well. I had felt it for years until Barry Allen had whisked me away to the Elseworlds. It was all very sad and I suddenly felt sorry for this man, despite everything he had done. He was like Raymond Jenkins. He had never meant to be what he became, it had been forced on him by circumstance or Fate, or perhaps both.

It was slightly tainted when I read a detailed list of all the murders he had committed- fifteen altogether, if you counted the other cheerleader at Union Wells High. But still, I thought I knew what had driven him to it, as disturbing a thought as that was.

The last thing in the file was a DVD labeled "First Contact." Fascinated, and driving back the urge to laugh at the Star Trek reference, I dove into my bag, trying with renewed vigor to find the small handheld disc-reading device I had pilfered from the Batcave. After a great deal of rummaging, I finally located it at the bottom of the bag and slipped the DVD between the two pins that would hold it in place. I flipped on the screen on top of the device, and pressed play.

I watched as Gabriel Gray tried to hang himself. I watched as a blonde woman I recognized from Isaac's paintings walked in, cut the rope with a blast of electricity from her hands, and comforted the distraught watchmaker. I watched from hidden cameras in his apartment when she arrived bearing peach pie and announced herself as "Elle." I watched as the obviously smitten Gabriel explained about the strange hunger that had driven him to kill a man, and demonstrated his telekinesis to the girl who was pretending not to know anything about special abilities, regardless of what I'd seen in the previous clip.

An infinite and irrational dislike for her rose up in me. She was a Company agent, obviously, and... I just couldn't stand fake people, especially those who used their sexuality to further their own ends. It made me want to punch her, even though I'd never really met her. _Although_, a voice inside me whispered, _based on Isaac's paintings, you will soon._ I blocked out that thought, interested in seeing what came next.

The Company clearly didn't trust its agents very well, because the van had been bugged too. I was surprised to find that Elle was working with, of all people, Bennet of the Horn-Rimmedness. I couldn't see their faces during the ensuing conversation, because they were outside the van, but I could hear them. What I heard surprised me. Elle actually argued _for_ Gabriel Gray, saying that he was a good man, that she didn't think he would kill again. _She was way wrong there_, I thought sardonically. And then what Bennet was saying reached me, and I couldn't help but snigger. The Company girl had a crush on the serial killer. It was just too ironic. I filed the tidbit away in hopes that it would be useful in future.

The drama played out to its inevitable conclusion; Elle, blackmailed by Bennet into carrying out the Company's orders, betrayed Gabriel and forced him to kill again. And that was the moment he became Sylar, I surmised. She tried to stop him with her power, and in a rage he chased her out of his apartment. The disc came to an end.

Having finally distracted myself, I laid back down, going over the revelations of the past half-hour in my head. After some hour or so, my thoughts calmed down enough to allow me to sleep. I closed my eyes and drifted inside my mind...

_I swirled down into darkness, shattering against the face of the world. Shards of reality spun past me as I went in freefall into the void. I was drawn into nothing, my flickering thoughts going numb in the face of the endless crushing darkness. I was nothing, and I was surrounded by nothing._

_Then, all at once, a door appeared in the midst of the black, and I seized the handle with a hand I hadn't realized I had. I yanked it open and tumbled out into an intensely bright light. For a moment, I wondered if I had died..._

"Hello, Miss Morten," a kindly voice said from behind me. I looked around and found myself standing in a sunlit penthouse. I saw the source of the voice sitting in a chair in the middle of the room. After a moment, I recognized him from the pictures in Peter's apartment.

"Mr. Deveaux?" I asked incredulously. "But you're dead! Am I dead?"

He shook his head, smiling. "No, Miss Morten, you aren't. And in a sense, neither am I. Maybe it's just me, or maybe this is how it is for everyone. I think maybe because of my powers my mind works differently than others, but whatever it is, I'm still here."

I sat down on the other chair next to him. "Well, not that I don't appreciate the whole Harry-Potter-style, drag-me-out-of-death-for-a-friendly-conversation-in-a-familiar-place thing, but... why am I here, exactly?"

Charles Deveaux was no longer smiling. "That's... complicated. When the Parasite attacked you, he took more than just your artificial strength and the pigment from your eyes. He took a little piece of your soul, too, a bit of your mind." I shuddered. It was a seriously creepy thought. "If you're going to stop Linderman and save New York City, you need to recover what you've lost to or there is no hope."

"W-what? How do I do that?"

He smiled again. "You have to break free from the nightmares."

Anger bubbled up in me. "And how the hell am I supposed to do_ that?_" I demanded. "I've been trying for damn near ten years now, and I haven't got shit to show for it!"

Unmoved by my harsh words, he looked placidly at me. "For once, Miss Morten, you can't go it alone. This isn't something you can beat by yourself. You need help. You have to bring someone in with you."

"Who? You?"

He chuckled good-naturedly. "No," he said, "I'm too old for this sort of thing. I suppose I was very good at it once, but death isn't kind to your vitality. I think you'll know who you need when the time comes. Just remember- all that really matters is love."

With that, he closed his eyes, and I suddenly found myself back in the void, struggling once again for my existence. As the vaporous form I had managed to assemble during my breath stay in solidity imploded into nothing, I stretched out with my mind before it too shattered. Who could I possibly ask to enter this place for me? No one deserved to experience this. Who could I ask for help? Surely I didn't need help. I was strong. I could beat this on my own... But my mind was being ripped to pieces too, and I knew I had only seconds. I changed the questions I was asking. Who did I need?

And just like that, the answer popped into my mind. I knew who I needed, someone I needed as much as I needed air. I threw out my mind, searching for the person I needed. As my mind crashed through to his on the last waves of my ability to think, lips I didn't have whispered his name.

"_Peter_..."

--

**Another Note From Lara: Yay! I actually did get an update out for you! I don't think you'll get many more until late July, but here you go. I stayed up to three a.m. in a hotel room in Vegas writing this for you, so please, please review.**


	39. Fixing My Mind

**A Note From Lara: You people rock, you know that? Seriously. You all rock. This chapter is dedicated to Erin, Rachel, Clare, Aly, and Sushii, for being absolutely amazing. Alright. On with the story.**

--

_Tanya and Spens_

_New York_

When Spens arrived, Tanya was already there. She was wearing a tank top and the tiniest pair of exercise shorts he'd ever seen. Her strawberry-blonde hair was pulled back in a high ponytail, with a few stray hairs escaping to trail down past her sweaty face, which was red with exertion. Her dark eyes were narrowed in concentration and she stared at the wall of violet energy she was struggling to maintain. It rippled and flexed in places, but it covered every wall of the room, with the exception of a few feet around the door, where he had just entered.

For awhile, he watched her. She was concentrating so hard, she hadn't even realized he was in the room. It was strange- he had mostly ignored his downstairs neighbors until Dianne moved in. At first, the fiery brunette had caught his attention. There was just something about her. But after a few weeks of Dianne rejecting his continual advances, he got fed up and started to pay more attention to her tiny roommate. And discovered that the girl he had lived upstairs from for two years was absolutely captivating.

"Oh, there you are," she said, still holding up one hand to maintain the force field. "I thought you might not turn up."

He bit his lip. "Are you sure this is a good place to meet? A gym is kind of public, you know. I mean, I'm fine with the roof of the building like we did yesterday--"

Tanya shook her head. "Nah. My cousin owns this gym. It's closed today for "repairs." Translation: I bullied him until he let me have the run of it."

Spens wasn't sure what to say. His mouth was dry, anyway. "Alright. Let's get to it," he finally sputtered out after a long silence.

She gave him a strange look but said nothing, simply dropped her hand to her side. The curtain of purple around the room vanished. He reached into the bag he had dropped beside him and pulled out a bowling ball. He held it between his two hands and concentrated, staring intently at it. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the ball began to shake, vibrating wildly between his palms, and for a moment he feared he would drop it. He recovered himself and allowed the power flow from the source inside him he had finally succeeded in locating. The motion of the ball accelerated and he really did lose his grip on it. But he continued to focus on it. He didn't need physical contact any more to do this- it helped, but it was a crutch, as Tanya had said. The room was filled with a crackling sound as the ball shuddered back and forth on the floor in front of him, jerking from side to side. A series of cracks spread across the surface of the polymer. Finally, the ball exploded. Splinters flew everywhere. Spens closed his eyes and ducked, convinced he was about to be impaled.

But it didn't happen. When he straightened up, he saw Tanya had raised her right hand and thrown a field over the ball. Little ripples spread out from the places where the fragments of the bowling ball had impacted against it. He looked at her. She was barely paying attention to the field she was maintaining. "How can you do that with so little _focus_?" he demanded.

"I've been practicing a lot longer than you," she said. "I can control my powers much better. For something this small, I don't really need to pay attention to it. It's almost reflexive now. Like breathing."

"I'm jealous," he said huffily. "You know, I've been wondering. How can we do these things, do you suppose? I mean, I know you and Petrelli think it has something to do with evolution or something, but..." He shrugged, unsure what he meant.

Tanya grinned widely. "Well, I have a secret," she said. "A couple days ago, after I promised to help you, I was at the coffee shop. And I dropped a tray; I used my ability to catch it before it hit the ground, and this guy saw me. His name is Mohinder Suresh, and it turns out his father is the one that wrote that book. He's a geneticist, too. I've been over to his apartment a couple times, helping him with research and stuff."

"Oh really?" Spens said, feeling a twinge of jealousy.

She grinned hugely. "Yeah. We're going together to find a guy over in New Jersey to try and get some samples from him to try and triangulate it against my DNA to try and figure out which genes trigger these abilities. And, this is just between you and me," she said conspiratorily, "but he is possibly the single most attractive guy _ever_. He ought to be in movies, not genetics labs, seriously."

A Bow-flex across the room began rattling as Spens tried to control his anger and jealousy. Quickly, he pulled his power back into it's hiding place inside him before Tanya could notice. He didn't want her to suspect how he felt. He gave her a slightly pained smile. "That's... um... great," he said. She winked at him, and diverted the conversation back to his training.

--

Peter was not aware that he was dreaming. He did not know that he had lived this same sequence of events hundreds of times over the last few days. All that stayed with him was the panic left over at the end of each replay, building on the fear from the time before that, sending his heartbeat racing across the monitors he did not know were hooked to him. He was rising in a crescendo of terror he could not break out of.

This particular dream sequence started out the same as it always did. The white-haired man stopping Nathan in his tracks. Isaac and Simone watching from across the street, then darting away into an alley. Hiro and Ando staring at him sadly. Niki and her family fleeing. Parkman and Mohinder running with them. Claire's stricken apology and flight. And there was Dianne, running toward him where all the others had run away.

But the blonde he did not recognize knocked Dianne to the ground. But this time instead of going limp, she looked up at him, begging him to help her. She whispered his name. "Peter..."

He was frozen, though. The explosion building in him kept him rooted to the spot. Suddenly, he felt a tug on his sleeve. A little girl, maybe nine or ten, looked up at him with wise brown eyes that seemed to belong to a much older person. "It's okay," she said. "I'll help you find her." Molly, her name was, he knew. He didn't know how he knew it, but it didn't matter. She seized his hand, ignoring the radiation pouring off him, and dragged him across to the place where Dianne lay pinned on the ground. Molly grabbed her hand and placed it in his burning one.

And then he was out of his nightmare and in hers. There was darkness all around, but he could see Dianne far below him, spiralling down to nothing. He raced after her, still alight with the bomb he carried inside him. But that didn't matter right now- she needed his help.

For what felt like an eternity she continued to reced and whatever he did, he couldn't reach her. But her pale face showed a flash of determination and she fought against the inexorable gravity of that nothing-place long enough for him to catch up to her.

She was slightly transparent and fading fast. Desperate to keep her present, he grabbed her ghostly hands. "Down to the bottom," she said. The void sucked the sound from her words, but he could read her lips well enough to understand what she meant.

They dropped faster toward the end of the nothing, and the farther down they went, the more transparent Dianne became. The more she faded, the more the terror building in Peter grew. He feared he was losing her. Eventually she was little more than a whisper of an outline against the blackness. All that remained of her were her blue eyes, locked on his, and the hands he refused to let go of. Down and down they went, until finally her voice reverberated clearly in his head: _Here. Now._

He understood. He knew what she wanted him to do. The bomb he had feared and fought was, just for a moment, a blessing in disguise. He stopped holding in the radiation. The nothing and darkness exploded in a burst of white light and impossible heat. When the blast cleared and they had blinked away the purple haze in front of their eyes, they were in Tanya's vibrant kitchen.

Peter glanced down at Dianne, who looked faintly stunned, but she was smiling. "Thank you," she said. "They were getting worse. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't..."

"It's alright," he said. "You know I'd do anything for you, right?"

Her smile widened. "And speaking of that, how are you? I mean, last time I saw you, you were..." She jerked her head, as if dismissing painful memories. "Nathan said he'd call me if you woke up, but I don't think he meant it."

He shook his head. Outside of his own dream, he knew it for what it was. "Nope. I'm still trapped inside my own head. Or, I guess, your head right now. Which makes me wonder, why are we in your kitchen?"

"I wanted somewhere bright and happy after _that_, and this was the first place I could think of. Hey, you'll never guess who told me how to stop the nightmares."

Peter raised one eyebrow. "Who?" He had forgotten how quickly she could change topics.

"Charles Deveaux. Your patient? Apparently he had some kind of mental ability and his spirit or whatever is still hanging around."

He wasn't sure how to reply to that, so he settled for a surprised look. After a brief silence, he asked, "Are you okay?"

Dianne nodded. "The missing piece of my soul Mr. Deveaux was talking about got found. It was at the end of the nightmare after all. But I wouldn't have been able to stay long enough to get there if you hadn't been there. Thank you, Peter. Guess you finally lived up to your name."

"W-what?"

She rolled her eyes. "Peter. It means 'rock' in Latin. Something solid. Something sure. It's the reason I'm convinced Jesus had a great sense of humor. I mean, he nicknamed the man he called "the rock on which he'd build his church" Peter. And you were the only thing that kept me real long enough to save myself. I'm babbling, aren't I?"

"Yeah. But that's not what I was talking about. I meant what you were saying about your soul."

"Oh," she said, "that. Apparently I lost a piece of my soul or a piece of my mind or something when the Parasite attacked me. That was what was causing the nightmares." A strange look crossed her face suddenly. "I'm going to wake up pretty quick. You'd better go back to your own head. Although, judging by the look on your face, that's not a very pleasant place to be right now."

He shook his head. "Dianne," he said with some trepidation, "I'm going to be the one who--"

But she interrupted him. "No time. You need to go. And Peter?"

"What?"

"I'll find a way out for you. I promise, okay? I'll make Mr. Deveaux put me in _your_ head for a change, and help you wake up. It's the least I can do." She threw her arms around him in a brief, final hug, and then she was gone and he was back in his own worst nightmare."

--

_Jessica Sanders_

_Las Vegas_

Jessica shook out her mane of blonde hair as she surveyed herself in the mirror. "Perfect," she said. The tattoo didn't even show through the heavy coat of makeup she had applied. Shame about that. Even she didn't know the explanation for the mark's appearance. But it didn't matter. It was easily hidden. She glanced in the mirror and saw Niki's eyes staring back out at her.

She smirked. "What's the matter, Niki?" she said gloatingly. "You're the one who wanted to be locked up."

Niki glared at her, banging on the mirror. "Let me out!" she insisted, a scream hiding behind the words.

"I don't think so," Jessica said, shaking her head smugly. "You made quite a mess of things. I had_ just_ gotten us out of Linderman's claws, and then you had to go and put yourself in a mental institution. And why? Because you're "dangerous." Yeah right, Niki. _You_ wouldn't hurt a fly. _I'm_ dangerous. And Mr. Linderman came swooping in to "rescue" us and get us under his thumb again. And now I'm going to have to get us out again. Now, don't get me wrong, Linderman pays well. So I'll do my stint to pay off your debt, get a little money for Micah's school. But you're gonna have to let me deal with this. You're just too weak for this, little Niki."

Nicole couldn't do anything but scream in frustration and bang on the mirror futilely. "Please," she whispered.

"I'm just doing what you would do if you were brave enough," Jessica said, feigning innocence with wide-open eyes. "What's wrong with that?"

"It's wrong because it's not me! I should be there for my husband and son. They know something's wrong- it's only a matter of time. It'll be so bad for them... Please..."

Tears ran down the face in the mirror, but Jessica was dry-eyed. "Shut up, Niki. Let me handle this," she said sharply, driven to cold anger by her twin's weakness. She slammed the closet doors shut, making the mirrors on the outside wobble. When the motion stilled, Niki was gone from the mirror and Jessica was alone. She was still there, in the back of her head somewhere, but she was hiding now.

When she turned around, there was a package on the bed she was sure hadn't been there before. Curious, she reached across the bed and picked it up. Inside the manilla envelope, she found two sheets of paper. The first contained instructions for her next job, to be carried out on a man who was trying to abscond with some of Mr. Linderman's money. The second was a note signed in Linderman's own precise hand.

_My dear Jessica, there is a small matter I'd like you to take care of, if it should show up on your doorstep, so to speak. There's a young lady who may complicate certain business ventures. I have intelligence from a dear friend that she may come knocking at your door any day now. If you should meet Miss Morten, I'd appreciate it if you'd deliver her to me. Be warned- she may look innocent, but Dianne is not as easy a target as she appears._

Committing the note to memory, Jessica pulled out her cigarette lighter and set the paper afire. As she watched the ashes crumble to dust on the carpet, she smiled viciously. "Dianne, you're mine."

--

**Another Note From Lara: Okay, next chapter is going to be dedicated to Claire's storyline, since she's going to be extremely important (in the fulfilling-her-part-in-the-save-the-world-prophecy sort of way) in upcoming chapters. And since I don't want (read: don't have room) to write it all out, Jessica's next job is the one where she tracks down the man who took back the money she stole from Linderman. Matt is the guy's bodyguard. He "hears" Niki and Jessica arguing; afterwards, Jessica throws him out a window. Matt loses his job, since he pretty much fails at bodyguarding. He meets with Ted Sprague and Hana Gitelman (who is awesome, btw). So that's where he's placed at the start of next chapter.**


	40. Indestructible

**A Note From Lara: Two notes this time, actually. Firstly, I am SO so sorry it's been so long since I updated. More than a month, oh my god. Blame my friend Spencer, on whom the character of Spens was based. I loaned him my season one DVDs to get him Heroes-obsessed, and he wouldn't give them back so I couldn't get accuracy on the dialogue, so... yeah.**

**And also, I may have lied. This chapter isn't entirely devoted to Claire. There is one little section of Dianne at the beginning. But the rest of it is all Claire, all the time. Which I can't believe, but I really appreciate right now. I'm like "Yes! Claire! Awesome!" all of a sudden. Don't ask me why. Must be because she was sort of awesome in the first season, and I just rewatched the whole thing last week... Anyway, this is a bit longer chapter due to my eagerness in transcribing most of Company Man on here. Except the flashbacks, 'cause nobody cares about those. At least, not in this fic. You wanna know, go watch them. But for now, just read and enjoy.**

* * *

I woke up disoriented, half-expecting to still be in the bright yellow kitchen back in New York. But no, I was still lying under low-lying scrub in the desert in New Mexico. Great.

Pulling myself to my feet, I took a long swig from my water bottle, mind whirling. I wasn't sure what to make of what had just happened, but I knew that something felt different. That empty place that had always been with me at the back of my mind for nine years had been filled. But that wasn't all of it, either. Something about me felt... lighter. No, not lighter. Brighter. I didn't know how to describe it. It was as if a broken bone had been snapped back into place, and I could see everything just a little more clearly, in a new light. I was free.

Whatever else about my release was confusing, one thing in particular had my head spinning in circles. Of course, it wasn't so different from the same thoughts that had been going around and around in my head since Odessa, but at the same time... it was. It was Peter. What he'd done for me. How I felt about him.

Mostly that, really. I had been able to keep my own feelings at a very safe distance for the last few days. I'd been able to look at them clinically and reflect as I walked or rode across the arid Southwest. But seeing him again, even if it was only inside our briefly linked minds, made me miss him with a fierce ache I couldn't block out or push away. We'd been apart for three days now, and it was the longest I'd gone without seeing him since we'd met.

I shook my head. This was insane. I'd done just fine without needing anybody my whole life, and I'd never had any intention of starting now. But I'd been blindsided by this impossible love, and now I needed Peter in my life. Part of me wondered if maybe I hadn't always needed him, but just hadn't known what it was that I needed. Whatever it was, this was how it was now. I couldn't change how I felt even if I wanted to. And the odd thing was... I didn't. It just made sense for me to love him. It was like it was meant to be.

The hum of tires on the highway reached my ears and I stuck out my thumb absently. To my great surprise, the trailerless semi pulled over.

"Where you going?" the chubby driver asked when I opened the door.

"Vegas," I said.

He smiled good-naturedly. "I'm headed that way myself. Got a pick-up to make before I head back to Minnesota. If I make good time, I can get you there by... I don't know... three tomorrow afternoon, most likely."

I couldn't suppress my smile. "Excellent. Thanks."

--

"Claire, talk to me," Bennet said cajolingly as he watched Lyle help his wife up the stairs.

"What's the point? Am I even gonna remember this conversation?" Claire demanded angrily, her voice rising in a low-pitched yell. Her father stared imploringly down at her and put his hands on her shoulders. She shrugged him off, glaring at him and daring him to lie to her again.

All he said was, "Would you keep your voice down?"

She shook her head, her blonde curls falling across her shoulders as she turned away in disgust. She halted in her tracks when a tall man with scruffy hair and haunted hazel eyes standing behind her. "Lyle, take your mother and get out of the house. Now!" Bennet said tensely. But before his son could so much as move, another man stepped out of the office and blocked the doorway. He pulled out a gun and aimed it at Bennet. Claire was amazed to recognize Officer Parkman, the policeman who had been working with the FBI on the attack Sylar had made on her.

"I'm sure you have a lot of questions," he said angrily. "We all do."

"What's happening?" Sandra asked timidly.

Claire looked accusingly at her father. "Yeah Dad," she taunted. "What's happening?"

He peered through his glasses at the gun-wielding man. "This is Officer Parkman of the LAPD," he said slowly.

"_Formerly_ of the LAPD thanks to you," Parkman said.

"What do you want from me?" Bennet said, managing to look sinister and innocent at the same time. "You come into my house with guns?"

But the other man, whom Claire had all but forgotten, interrupted. "Not guns. Gun. I don't need a gun, do I, Mr. Bennet? Not after what you did to me."

"I don't know you."

"Stop lying to me," the man said dangerously. "You're gonna upset me. And you know what happens when I get upset. I get very bright, and very hot."

Parkman stepped forward then. "No no no, Ted is gonna do us all a favor, right Ted? And he's not gonna get upset. But you gotta help!" He pointed an angry, accusing finger at Bennet.

But he just stared in feigned innocence at them. "No, I'm not who you think I am. I'm just a paper salesman."

"No," Ted said menacingly. "You're not. Go ahead. Tell 'em what you do! What goes on at that "paper factory" of yours, _Mr. Bennet_?"

"He abducts people!" Parkman burst out, staring at the floor looking as though he was simultaneously furious and lost in thought. "He drugs us! He injects us with I-don't-know-what!" He pulled back the collar of his shirt to reveal to symmetrical puncture scars on his neck. "I lost my job, and I am trying not to lose my wife. But you don't care about that, do you? You don't care about what you did to me. All you care about is that we think that nothing happened. He makes us forget."

Sandra spoke up, looking as though she'd been betrayed and was trying very hard to believe it wasn't true. "How does he make you forget?" she asked in a shaky voice.

_The Haitian,_ Claire thought, fury coursing through her at the thought of what her father had put the family through.

"That's right, the Haitian," Parkman said, almost to himself, as he stared at her in confusion. Claire stared right back, shocked. Had he just...?

"She knows?" Ted asked.

Claire turned to glare at Bennet. _This is your fault, _she accused, staring at him.

"She knows this is his fault," Matt said, suddenly staring between father and daughter in surprise. "He's got 'em all fooled... except for her!"

Ted smirked, a vicious, angry smile. "Just when you thought plausible deniability was gonna save your ass," he hissed. Claire's mind was whirling with all the things her father had done, the Haitian coming to Zack, to her family...

Parkman spoke slowly. "He made her mother forget... and her brother, but... but not her. Why didn't he make you forget?"

"What is he talking about, Claire?" Sandra called from the stairs.

Claire recoiled in irrational fear as Parkman stepped toward her, face alight with confusion and curiosity. "I don't know _anything_!" she denied.

"You wanna put a stop to all this? You wanna keep your family safe?" Parkman demanded, now advancing on Bennet. "We'll go if you just tell us the truth!"

Straight-faced, he glared back at the other man. "I am telling the truth."

Ted stepped forward, rage written all over his face. "No," he said, voice rising in a crescendo of fury, "_this_ is the truth!" He raised his hands in front of him and they lit up from within, glowing bright orange even in the afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows. His bones showed clearly through his skin, glowing even brighter than than his skin. "This is what you did to me." Claire stared. This wasn't possible.

"Oh my god," Sandra whispered.

"We just wanna be normal again," Ted insisted.

She could end this, Claire suddenly realized. She had said it just that morning in the hospital. The only reason she hadn't already fled this insanity was to keep the rest of her family safe from her father. Now a different threat was in the house, and he wasn't doing anything about it. Well, if he wouldn't protect them, she would. She turned back to face Parkman. "He's not a paper salesman," she said softly.

Ted smiled like a shark. "Guess she's not Daddy's Little Girl anymore."

He took a step toward her, reaching to grab onto her, but Parkman stepped hurriedly between them. "Ted, hey, hey now," he said, "I'm gonna go talk to her, okay?" The radioactive man paused, but nodded and stepped aside. "Come on," Parkman said, trying to sound tough, and he pushed her into her father's office. He slammed the door shut behind them and walked over to the desk, where he pushed apart two slats of the Venetian blinds and peered out at the street, visibly sweating. Claire perched nervously on the arm of a chair. She watched through the office window as her father stood up and called her name, only to be pushed back into his seat by Ted.

She could run, Claire thought. She could get help. They couldn't stop her.

But before she could make a move, Parkman turned around and lurched towards her. "I know you're thinking about bein' a hero," he said in an undertone. "Don't! Don't, this guy is serious, and he is really dangerous, and I need your help to make sure that nobody gets hurt."

Her impression of Parkman violently reoriented itself yet again. Dubiously, she said, "You can read my mind."

"Yeah," he said, eyes downcast. "Yeah, it's something your dad did to me."

She looked up at him, confused. Here was another of these people, people like her, people like Peter, the people Dianne had told her about. A mind-reader. But... her _dad_ had done this? How? Why? "It didn't just happen?" she asked.

Parkman's dark eyes looked angry. "I wouldn't be here right now if it had just happened," he said.

"Has my dad done this to other people?" Claire asked. What did that mean? If these abilities had been just given to people, if they weren't just random chance, had they all been... abducted? By her father? Oh god, this was so confusing.

He just shrugged though. "As far as I can tell. It's different with everyone." He sighed. "I've seen some weird things. I'm sure you have too, like that stuff at your school."

Immediately, an image of Peter flashed into her mind. Her hero, Peter Petrelli.

"Peter Petrelli?" Parkman gasped, picking up on the thought. "He can do what I can do. What do you know about him?"

_He can do what I can do_, Claire thought. So Dianne had been right. Peter wasn't like her. He didn't just heal. "He's different," she said. "Like you. He... doesn't just do one thing. He does lots of things."

Looking pensive, not meeting her eyes, Parkman whispered, "Save the cheerleader... I read his mind. He read mine. He told me to protect you from someone who was killing people like me." She saw the revelation dawn on his face, and felt a tiny little twinge of despair. Someone else who knew what a freak she was. Even someone like her, in a way, how could anyone ever see her as just another person? "Are you different, Claire?" he whispered. She didn't answer, she just walked across the study and stared out the window at her family, who were watching right back.

"Your blood was all over that crime scene..." Parkman said behind her, apparently working it out. "But you didn't have a scratch on you. Why didn't you have a scratch on you?"

She turned around, finally meeting his eyes, and knowing he would hear her thoughts. _I can heal_, she thought. "Did my dad make me this way?"

He sighed, shook his head. "I don't know," he said softly. "Listen, I'm gonna talk to Ted. Maybe... maybe there's a way to get out of this mess, alright? I'm gonna have to be a little rough, to keep him thinking I'm willing to go as far as he is, so..." He sighed again. Then he pushed her, hard, out the door of the study. "Get over there with the others," he said loudly, pointing to the rest of the Bennet clan. Then he pulled Ted aside and began whispering to him.

She watched them, intending to shout at her father, to yell and demand answers the way Dianne had. But the words the two men across the room were speaking caught her attention and she didn't speak.

"...we got them involved when we didn't leave when they came home," Parkman was saying hurriedly. "Look, no one's been hurt yet. What's he gonna do, go to the police? We can get out of here right now--"

But Ted shook his head, chewing on his thumbnail. "We didn't get what we came for," he insisted. "We came for a cure."

"And what if there isn't one?" Parkman asked. Ted didn't reply, but Claire was watching Parkman's face. She saw his eyes go wide in horror, and he turned to look at Ted in fear. Claire knew he must have read Ted's mind, and she was pretty sure she knew what he'd heard. She could read the intent to destroy written all over the nuclear man's face.

Instead of saying any of it, Ted just sighed, putting a hand on Parkman's shoulder. "Look, just... get inside his head, get some answers, or we're all gonna have a really bad day."

Claire watched as her father confused them by thinking in Japanese, then decoyed them to the den. They walked away and he seized a gun from beneath the mantel. But before he could pull the trigger, Parkman launched into him, throwing him to the ground. The handgun skidded across the tile floor. Ted picked it up and dove into the fray, viciously kicking Bennet in the side. Sandra screamed, but it was Parkman who pulled Ted away.

But he was having none of it. He shrugged off Parkman's restraining hands. "We are not done here!" he hissed. "I'm calling your bluff." He aimed the gun at Sandra's head.

Claire's heart went cold at the sight of the pistol pointed straight at her mother. Parkman drew his own gun, aiming it at the floor and pleading with his "partner" to stop.

Ted only shrugged. "Well he killed my wife," he said desperately. He jerked the gun at Bennet, then returned Sandra to the center of the crosshairs. "Only fair I kill his. And with his own gun, too. Kinda poetic, don't you think?"

"She didn't do anything," Claire yelled, acting on instinct. "Shoot me if you're gonna shoot someone." She stepped in front of the gun, arms spread wide. But her mother shoved her out of the way. She knew that Ted really would pull the trigger. This was their one chance. Ted was yelling, Parkman was shaking his head, and inspiration struck.

_SHOOT ME!_ she thought as loud as she could at the telepath.

"You brought this on yourself," Ted said sadly, glaring at Bennet.

Claire screamed, she heard the gun go off, and then... Darkness.

* * *

The next thing she was aware of was choking. Sitting up groggily, she spit the bullet in her throat into the hand outstretched in front of her. Once her vision had cleared and she had spit out the blood, she looked up. Her father was kneeling by her bedside and behind him, Parkman was standing by the door, staring at her in a mixture of shock and awe.

"Where's Mom and Lyle?" she asked.

Bennet sighed. "They're downstairs," he said, looking relieved.

"Are they safe?"

"No."

Parkman stepped forward. "You made her indestructible?" he demanded.

Noah shook his head. "No, you don't understand. I didn't "make" anyone. You don't have all your facts straight and I don't appreciate you confusing my daughter."

"The facts are you work in some freak factory that ruins people's lives!" Claire burst out.

"I promise I will explain everything later, Claire, but right now you have to do exactly what I tell you to do," he insisted. "Don't make the same mistake I did. Don't put your family at risk." Ted called up the stairs and he turned aside for a moment to watch the door. Parkman called back, and Bennet turned back around to face her. "The people I work for don't know about you. If they did, you wouldn't be here right now. They would've taken you months ago and we never would have seen you again. You say you want a normal life, that's what I've been fighting for!"

Despite her fears, Claire couldn't doubt the honest look in his eyes, or Parkman's whispered confirmation that it was the truth. So all this time... he had known? And he'd been protecting her? Her world reoriented yet again.

"Hate me all you want," her father continued, "but right now, this has to be contained, which means you have to stay put."

Claire was furious. She had a chance to help, to really help, maybe to save her family's lives, and he wanted her to hide up here? "What, you want me to play dead?" she demanded. "I'm sorry, I'm not Mr. Muggles!"

Bennet glared at her, his eyes willing her to do as he said. "That man downstairs can generate a chain reaction that would be like dropping an atomic bomb on this house," he said. "Just do what I say so nobody gets hurt. And you--" He turned to look at Parkman. "Do what I think." The two men walked out of the room, leaving her alone and spattered in her own blood.

There was no way she was going to stay here. She was tired of being the helpless cheerleader, always needing to be saved. Claire wanted to be more like the fearless, self-confidant woman who had come to see her just a few days before. She wanted to demand answers and go on trips to Vegas on nothing but faith and determination. It was time to take matters into her own hands. She was going to save her family.

Quickly, she piled pillows under a sheet. Then she made a quick slice into her wrist with the sharp edge of a trophy from a cheerleading tournament, and allowed the blood to drip onto the sheet at approximately the place where her wound would be if it were really her beneath the cover. As she worked, she heard shouting from downstairs, then conspiratorial whispers, and then the door slammed shut. She peered out the window to see her father and Officer Parkman drive away in the direction of Primatech.

She spared a few seconds to wonder what they were doing, then climbed out the window, down the ladder Zack had never bothered to move. Once down, she ran around to the back of the house and peered through the kitchen window. Through the glare of morning sunlight on the glass, she could make out her mother and Lyle seated on the loveseat, and Ted sitting on a stool beside them, playing with what appeared to be balls of light that he created around his hands. But Claire knew better. Radiation.

Suddenly, Ted turned his head as if he'd heard something. Then he walked quickly to the bottom of the stairs. She held her breath, waiting to see if he'd go up. He did.

Claire pulled the kitchen door open softly, moving it quickly past the place where it always creaked. She heard Sandra gasp as she came into view, but she held up a finger to her lips and grabbed a large filet knife out of the block on the island. Uncomfortable under Lyle's stare, she hurried to their side and began slicing through the duct tape that bound their wrists and ankles.

"Thank you God! I prayed so hard, and you came back," Sandra said softly. Claire didn't reply, just cut apart the tape around Lyle's ankles, freeing him. He jumped up, rubbing his wrists, with Sandra right behind him. But before they could hurry out of the house, Ted appeared at the top of the stairs.

They sprinted for the front door, Claire in front. She didn't make it in time, and Ted grabbed her around the waist and neck. Sandra seized Lyle and pulled him around. "Go, to the back!" she yelled, shoving him out the door.

She whirled around as Ted's hands began to heat up, burning Claire's throat. "Go, Mom!" she screamed. "Get out of here! Go!" But Sandra wouldn't leave.

Ted took his hand away, and Claire felt the burns heal insantly. Sandra stared. "Claire," she whispered, stunned.

* * *

He tied them up again, of course. As he wrapped duct tape firmly around them, Claire said, "You should have run, Mom."

"I could never leave you," Sandra said. "Not after I just got you back." She shot a venomous look at Ted. He narrowed his eyes back at her. She turned away and glanced back at Claire. "I always thought you were a miracle," she said softly. "I just didn't know how much of one 'til now."

"I'm not a miracle, Mom," she said sourly.

But Sandra just smiled. "You were dead. Any time somebody rises from the dead, I'd call that a miracle." Then she sighed. "I walked through fire and didn't get burned... you were tryin' to tell me."

Claire stared at the wall, not wanting to look at her mother or the radioactive man. "I was trying not to tell you," she mumbled.

"All this forgettin', why I was in the hospital... you think your father did that to me?" Sandra asked.

"I know he did," Claire said, fury rising in her again despite her better nature. "He said he was trying to "protect us.""

Sandra gave her a stern look. "He is your father," she said firmly. "He is coming back to get us out of this."

Ted interrupted. "I'm curious about something," he said, with the air of someone who knows exactly how the conversation's going to play out but is willing to follow it to the end anyway. "Did Parkman know, when he shot you, that you wouldn't die? Did your dad tell him? That explains why they were so chummy when they came down the stairs. What do you suppose they're up to?" The sound of a car door slamming interrupted his monologue. "Guess I'll just ask 'im myself." He walked away.

As Officer Parkman and her father came through the door, Claire watched Ted's hands light up again. "Am I still in control, Mr. Bennet?" he asked, sounding on-edge.

He nodded. "You're in control, Ted." He held up a file with Ted's picture stapled inside. "They will kill me, if they find out I've shown you this. Since I'm risking my own life, I'd rather not risk my family's."

To Claire's utter amazement, the Haitian, of all people, walked through the door. "What is he doing here?" Ted asked.

Bennet held the file a little closer to his chest, as if it was a shield. "He's just here to make sure my family's safe. Get them out of here." He jerked his head at the two of them on the sofa, and the Haitian pulled out a pen knife which he used to slice through the duct tape. Claire followed him and Sandra toward the back door, but paused when Ted prevented her father from following. "Go, Claire," he said. "I'll be fine."

Reluctantly, she walked out the door, pausing only to pick up Mr. Muggles. Lyle sprinted up to them as they ran into the front yard. "Mom, I called the police!" he shouted.

"You idiot!" Claire exclaimed. "Why would you do that?"

Lyle looked at her as if she were deranged. "Um, because there are a couple of guys trying to kill us?" he said sarcastically.

"Lyle, no! No one would ever understand what's happened here! What are we gonna tell them? That they wanted Dad because he works for some company where they turn people into mutants? There's no way!" He shrugged and kicked at the ground.

Suddenly, from within the house, a single shot went off. Within seconds, a scream and a series of tiny explosions followed it. "Oh my god," Claire whispered. "They shot Ted!" The house lit up from within. Claire could see fire devouring the curtains and a series of random flashes of orange-white light through the windows.

A few moments later, Parkman and a man she recognized as her father's supervisor came running out the back door. Claire ran up to them. "Where's my dad?" she demanded. Parkman pointed to the house, out of breath. Without pausing to think, Claire sprinted through the backdoor and into an inferno.

The house was barely recognizable. The paint and wallpaper had burned away, revealing bare walls that were quickly turning to ash as she looked. Everything was aflame and everything glass had shattered. The granite of the countertop was covered with scorch marks. "Dad!" she yelled.

"Get out!" he called back. She ignored him and came to kneel beside him behind a row of cabinets. "I've got a tranquilizer. Stay down!" Seconds later, he was back with a blistered hand. "I can't get close enough," he said in frustration.

And then the realization hit. "Give it to me!" Claire shouted. "I'll be okay!" He tried to protest, but she pulled the needle out of his hand. As she did so, Matt hurried into the room, arms raised to shield his face from the flames and flying ash. "Get him out of here!" she yelled to him.

As they disappeared through the back door, Claire stared at the needle in her hand, then glanced over her shoulder, over the top of the cabinets at the glowing, flashing man in the hallway. This was what she had to do. To save her family, to stop all of this, she was going to do this. _She_ could be the hero this time.

She rose up, barely feeling the heat licking across her face as she walked through the fire to where Ted lay writhing on the ground. As she got closer to him, the skin on her face peeled off, turning to so much radioactive ash as it burned away. But Claire didn't notice. Her eyes were fixed on Ted, determined to do whatever it took to get that needle under his skin. At last, she had pushed through the flames, close enough to touch him...

An explosion rocked the house, and Claire blacked out. When she awoke, she was lying in the doorway with no skin anywhere on her body. She rose to her feet and walked through the door.

Two dozen people stood there, staring at her as her body repaired itself, but she suddenly didn't care. What did it matter if people knew she was a freak. It didn't make her any more of one. She only felt numb as her father wrapped his jacket around her, as her family embraced her. Only one thing filled her vision: Mr. Thompson. He worked for Primatech. He was the one who was going to take her away now, just as her father had said they would...

The police arrived a few minutes later, and in the resulting confusion, Claire had the opportunity to slip into the house and run up to her bedroom which, thankfully, had not been badly damaged by the fire. Or at least, her cell phone still worked, which was all that mattered.

She dialed the only person she could think of who could help her escape in the immediate future, thankful that she'd renewed their friendship after the Haitian wiped his memory.

When he finally answered the phone, she glanced around to make sure no one else was in the house who could overhear her.

Then she whispered, "Zack, I need your help..."

* * *

"Zack, you didn't have to pay for my ticket," she said, waiting on the bus stop next to him. "I could have afforded it."

He smiled. "I was glad to help. Besides, you're gonna need cash where you're going. It's not like I needed it."

Claire looked up into his soulful hazel eyes. She didn't know what she'd done to deserve a friend like him. He hadn't even hesitated when she had told him to come pick her up. In all the confusion while the police were taking everyone's statements, she had slipped away down the block and jumped into his car. And now they were here. And he had spent his own money on her bus ticket. "You were gonna spend that money on a the software for a dual platform for your computer," she reminded him.

"Like I said," Zack said with a shrug, "I didn't need it. Just, um... remind me why you're running away to Vegas, again?"

She sighed. "I need to get away from here. The company my dad works for is gonna lock me up if I stay. There's only one person who can keep me safe, and that's Peter Petrelli."

"Wait, I thought you said he was from New York," Zack said. "Aren't you kinda going the wrong direction?"

"I don't think so," she said. "Peter has a friend, I guess. Her name's Dianne. I met her last week, and she said that something was wrong with Peter. He's sick. For awhile, he's not gonna be able to take care of me. I can't do this alone, Zack. I just can't. I don't know where to go, and I don't know what to do. And Dianne is the only person I can think of who can help me figure this whole thing out. She said she was going to Vegas for a couple of days, and that I could find her there if I needed help. And now I do."

Zack put his hands in his pockets uncomfortably. "I can come with you, if you want," he offered.

Claire smiled sadly, heart aching. "You've already helped me so much, Zack. I couldn't ask you to do that. Your parents would worry. Mine will probably know I'm safe, but you're not indestructible."

He shrugged. "Guess not."

The bus pulled up and the doors slid open with a pneumatic hiss. Claire pulled the shoulder strap of her duffel bag which contained all of her most important possessions over her shoulder and began to walk toward it. "Wait!" Zack called after her. She whirled to face him, half-hoping he would say what she hoped he would.

"Am I ever gonna see you again?"

It wasn't what she'd been hoping for, but it would do. His eyes were saying something beyond that, and Claire thought she knew what. On an impulse, she dropped her bag and ran back to where he stood. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him passionately. Unconsciously, his arms went around her, holding her to him.

When she pulled back, he had a dazed smile on his face. "I'll find my way back to you," she said. "Somehow. Someday. I promise."

He didn't speak as she walked away, her heart full. She looked back just once as she mounted the steps of the bus, just a quick glance over her shoulder at the lonely figure still standing on the bus stop.

And then she was off, on the way to begin a journey she did not know the end of.

* * *

**Hey, I told you when we started that I was going to do a little bit of Claire/Zack, didn't I? And for all of those people who are going to say "Zack is gay," I have this to say: In my head, Zack is bi, at the most. Because otherwise, Claire/Zack would never happen, and it's just too cute not to love.**


	41. The 'Aww' Chapter

**A Note From Lara: Yeah, so I've been compulsively writing Peter/Emma (Pemma) all week, and I figured it was time to get back to some of my long-term fics. But hey, at least I've finally got a canon ship that's as fabulous as PetAnne (well, aside from Syelle, because that's just awesome in a jar!).**

**Also, the POV on this is kind of confusing, because in the flashback I was trying to write it mostly from the POV of Dianne as a little girl, a la the Sylar scenes in Exposed, but sometimes I think older Dianne crept into the equation as well, and it gets complicated. So just bear that in mind. And also the stuff about how Dianne used to have green eyes, before the Parasite. Because for some reason, it strikes me as important. Who knows, maybe it WILL be important in later chapters. I haven't decided yet.**

* * *

My be-bearded savior continued to drive straight through the night. The dusky-red New Mexico landscape gave way to the tans and gray-greens of Nevada sometime in the late evening, just as the sun was setting. I leaned my head against the windowpane, feeling even less inclined toward conversation as my temporary chauffeur seemed to be. I hadn't forgotten my promise to Peter, and I had every intention of keeping it. I just wasn't sure how. If only I weren't so tired from days of walking, maybe I could focus better. But I struggled to keep my eyes open nonetheless. The number two rule of hitchhiking is to never fall asleep in a stranger's car. You never know where you'll wake up...

_Snow was falling on my head as I shuffled through banks of powdery white. I kicked up my patent-leather-dressed feet in excitement, my hand swinging back and forth in time with my father's. I glanced up at him and he laughed, ruffling my hair with a large hand..._

"Ah, Miss Morten," came a familiar voice from behind me.

I turned around and once again found myself standing in a sunlit apartment on Central Park West. "Mr. Deveaux," I said with cold cordiality. "I seem to have drifted off. Where's Peter? How do I get to him? I promised him I'd help him get free, and I need your help to find him--" I broke off as he broke into a hearty chuckle.

"All in good time, Dianne. But right now, you need to know the truth," he said.

"The truth about what?"

His mouth smiled, but his eyes were serious as he replied. "You have to understand your past if you hope to change your future. There's more to what you're doing than you know."

For a moment, I just studied him, watching the sunlight across his time-worn face. Then I said, "Why are you visiting me? Why don't you talk to Peter about this? He's the important one in this equation, not me."

But Charles shook his head. "That's not entirely true," he said. "It's just the way it came together when I was a boy. Everyone has their role to play, and if one falls through, the world falls into darkness. You see, New York _will_ be saved. But the saving can go two ways. Armed with the truth, _you _can influence the change to save many innocent lives. If you don't..." He shrugged, and took a sip of his coffee.

"Who is the bomb?" I asked. "Isaac Mendez painted an exploding man. Who is he?"

"Like I said before, all in good time. You'll know when you need to. But there are things you have to discover first. This disaster isn't inevitable, and it isn't just chance. It's been carefully planned for and arranged for a long time."

My mouth dropped open. "What kind of sick person would plan something like--" I broke off, remembering some particularly dastardly plots I'd helped Bruce counter in the past, and sighed. "Never mind, I answered my own question. But what do you want to tell me?"

"Not tell you. Show you. They're your memories, Dianne. You unlocked them when you defeated the Parasite's influence. It's up to you to find them in yourself." He turned away from me.

I fell out of time and space and whirled through a place of changing lights and colors. A roaring noise was in my ears and then...

The view from where I stood was very disorienting. I wasn't sure how to interpret it because I seemed to be viewing the world from several feet lower than usual. Then I realized that I was dreaming the memory Charles had talked about, and my sense of space reoriented. I really was shorter, because I wasn't even six years old.

It was Christmas, that much I could tell. It was snowing, and the large house in front of us had candles in the windows, and a lighted tree was visible through one of them. I kicked at the snowdrift on the front step of what I suddenly realized was the Petrelli mansion. "Why do I have to get all dressed up?" I heard my own little-girl voice say.

She smiled down at me, a warm figure with red hair and a white coat. She hunched down to look into my face. Almost as a matter of habit, she straightened the green velvet bow tied around my straw-colored hair. My hair was as pale as my father's, and I hated it- I wanted it to look just like hers. I shook her hand away, and she chuckled. "We always have Christmas with Aunt Vicky," she said. Next to me, my father mumbled something under his breath.

"This isn't Aunt Vicky's house," I pointed out.

Her smile slipped for a moment, then bounced right back. "This year we're visiting some friends of your aunt and mine's. They're our very oldest friends, so I want you on your best behavior, alright?"

I frowned, but she had already rung the doorbell. A dark-haired woman answered the door. "Kira!" she exclaimed. "Allan! It's been too long, come in!" And just like that, we were swept inside into the warmth and light of the party.

"Victoria!" my mother exclaimed, rushing forward to hug another red-headed woman, nearly identical to her. "It's been to long, Sis."

My aunt Vicky smiled. "I know! I haven't seen you since that mess in Bombay. It's good to see you." She turned and fixed my father with an icy stare. "Hello, Allan," she said. Child though I was, I realized that there was something angry between them. And the smile she gave me seemed a little forced, too, when she laid off glaring at him.

_The scene twitched, and the memory skipped forward a few minutes, disorienting me..._

"Tell you what," the dark-skinned man said to me kindly, "you'd probably have a lot more fun playing with someone your own age. No need for you to sit in here and try and be prim and proper for the grownups, huh?"

I shook my head, my blonde curls bouncing. I had been fitfully twisting my hands in the hem of my dress- dark green velvet to match the bow in my hair- as I sat uncomfortably in the midst of a Christmas party in full-swing.

He put a hand on my shoulder and guided me out of the parlor and into a smaller sitting room just across the hall. As he lead me inside, I spied a girl, a year or two older than me, with curly dark hair and eyes as green as my own. She looked up as the door swung open. A perfectly dimpled smile crossed her face and she rose to her feet, setting aside a rag doll to brush away invisible wrinkles in her red taffeta Christmas dress. "This is my daughter, Simone," the man said. "Simone, this is Dianne, Mr. and Mrs. Morten's daughter."

"It's nice to meet you," she said sweetly.

I gave her a hesitant smile, a little unsure of her. She seemed like some of the girls I had met at school who were too afraid of getting dirt on their clothes to have any fun. "It's nice to meet you, too," I replied, remembering my manners just in time.

The man stepped back into the hallway, clearly wanting to get back to the party. "You girls have fun, now."

For a moment, I stared at the other girl warily. Then she said, with that same perfect smile, "I have dolls. Would you like to play?"

I nodded, and crossed the room to sit next to her on the floor. She handed me the rag doll she'd been playing with earlier and picked another one up from the coffee table. "We can play Doctor. I'll be the nurse, and they'll be the patients," she said. And so we did. I liked the game, but it grew tedious even for a little girl after a few minutes.

"You wanna explore?" I asked eventually.

Her eyes widened. "My daddy told me to stay here!" she hissed. "It isn't our house!"

"That's what makes it fun!" I said quietly. "We might find something interesting. Or we can spy on the grownups. They only ever talk about interesting stuff when they think we aren't there. So are you coming?"

She shook her head, causing her tight black ringlets to bounce wildly around her head. "No way. I'm not gonna get in trouble. Don't go, Dianne!"

But it was too late. I'd already slipped out the door, careful to avoid being seen by the grownups just across the hall. I wandered across the foyer, my little shoes making soft clicking sounds that echoed across the black-and-white tiles. I stared at the ceiling high above me. A huge crystal chandelier hung what felt like a mile above me. It was positioned at the center of the spiral of the grand staircase that backed the foyer. I wondered if I'd be able to reach out and touch the dazzling faceted glass if I climbed the stairs high enough.

I tip-tapped over to the stairs, then hopped and jumped up them, making a game out of it, with my eyes always fixed on the sparkling chandelier. The staircase made me feel like a princess in a fairy tale, fleeing a royal ball at midnight.

It transpired that I couldn't touch the chandelier after all. My arms just weren't long enough, and I vowed that when I grew up, I'd be tall enough to touch the stars if I wanted to. And as I'd climbed so high already, I decided to continue up even higher.

The stairs, it transpired, continued for another two stories. The first floor, the one right above ground level, didn't interest me much. There were just more rooms like the ones I'd already seen. Parlors for entertaining and rooms that didn't actually seem to have a purpose except that they existed. I climbed higher.

Standing on the top step of that tall stair, I wasn't sure which way to go. The hallway extended a long way in both directions. After a moment of debate, I chose the left. I peered into each of the rooms I passed and discovered that they were all bedrooms, all empty. Except for one.

In the last room on that end of the house, I pushed the door open a crack to look in at the sloped-ceiling, wood-paneled room, and discovered that there was someone inside. A little boy about my age sat on the end of the bed. His dark hair was slicked back, and he wore a miniature version of the expensive suits I had seen on the men downstairs. A pair of shiny black dress shoes were on his feet, and he was swinging them back and forth off the end of the bed. He stared down at the floor, and didn't even notice me walking into his bedroom.

"Did you get in trouble? Are you on a time-out?" I asked loudly.

He jumped, and wiped at his eyes. "No," he said defensively. "I'm not."

I cocked my head to one side, studying him. He had eyes as dark as his hair, and he had clearly been fussing with the little red-and-green tie around his neck, because it was loose and lopsided. "Then why are you up here all alone?" I asked.

"It's my birthday today," he said. "Nobody but my brother remembered. Nobody ever remembers, because it's right before Christmas."

"Oh." If it was his birthday, I should have brought a present. But I didn't have anything. Wait... yes I did. I reached up and untied the ribbon in my hair. "I don't have a present for you, but you can have my ribbon," I said, handing him the strip of green material.

He took it and looked at it for a moment. Then he smiled sweetly at me. "Thanks. I'll keep it forever." He folded it up and put it carefully in a drawer. Then he turned back to me. "What's your name?"

"I'm Dianne. Who are you?"

"My name's Peter."

"Do you wanna play?" I asked, hoping he'd prove more interesting than Simone.

He smiled again. "Yeah. What do you want to play?"

I thought about it, then grinned wickedly. "We could slide down the banister."

For a moment, he looked a little scared, but my challenging grin meant he couldn't refuse. "Sure," he said. As soon as he agreed, I grabbed him by the hand and dragged him down the hall, hurrying to the stairs.

"I'll go first," he said. He perched himself on the railing on the outside of the spiral, the one against the wall, and lifted his feet off the wall. His slick dress pants made for perfect sliding and he sailed down two stories only to tumble off the end and land in a heap on the floor.

"Are you okay?" I called down, worried. He leapt to his feet and gave me a thumbs up, grinning widely. With that, I jumped onto the banister myself and allowed myself to fly down the stairs. The velvet of my dress wasn't as slippery as his pants, so I wasn't as quick. It made me mad, but it did mean that I was able to manage a slightly more graceful landing than Peter had. I dropped of the rail, laughing. "That was _fun_!" I said breathlessly.

He nodded. "Let's do it again!" Together, we raced up the stairs, and he hopped up on the rail again. This time, when he reached the bottom, he managed to land on his feet. I followed him, but this time it was I who lost my balance on the landing. I tumbled to my knees, and bit my lip to keep from yelling out. I didn't want to be a crybaby. "Are you hurt?" he asked, giving me a hand to help me to my feet.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps made us perk up our ears. "Hide!" I said. But Peter shook his head, and together we sat at the foot of the stairs as three people came out of the party. The dark-haired woman from before looked over her shoulder, calling to someone inside the party, "I'm sorry your wife and children couldn't make it today, Kaito. Excuse us for just a moment. Daniel and Arthur and I have some things that need discussing." With her was a man with icy-blue eyes and blonde hair going white, and another man who appeared to be her husband.

"Ironic, isn't it, Angela" the latter said. "The first year Kira and Victoria can find the time to come to our little Company get-together, neither Carlos nor Ichi can make it. Bit of a shame, really. It might be good for Peter to have Isaac and Hiro around. Maybe teach him a little toughness to have some boys his own age to play with."

Angela swatted him gently on the arm. "He does just fine, Arthur. Let him be."

He smiled at her, but as he glanced at her, his eyes fell on the two of us sitting at the bottom of the stairs. He gave us a passing look, then hurried up the stairs, followed quickly by the other man. Angela, however, paused to look at us, a strange look in her eyes. I shifted uncomfortably under her gaze, and wondered if she was a witch, because she made me feel very afraid. It was as if she knew we'd been doing something we probably shouldn't.

And then she was gone, sweeping up the marble staircase after her husband.

Peter breathed a sigh of relief once they were out of sight. "See?" he said sadly. "My mom didn't even say 'happy birthday'."

An idea occurred to me. "You want to spy on them?"

His eyes widened, and I thought he was going to say no, but then he nodded. "Okay," he said. "But we better not get caught!"

"What's it matter if we get caught?" I laughed. "What's the worst that they can do to us? Yell?"

_As the memory jumped forward again, I was able to gain a few moments separated from my young self, and laughed at my own naivete. Oh, little girl, you have no idea, I thought. You have no idea what people will do to you if you give them the chance. And then the memory picked up again..._

We knelt outside one of the useless rooms on the second floor, our ears pressed to the crack of the door.

"--Telling you, this bomb is not inevitable!" Angela was saying loudly. "I dreamed it, last night! It doesn't have to be this way! New York doesn't have to be destroyed! All the innocent lives that could be saved..."

"Now Angela," her husband began, but the other man cut across them both.

"My dear, I'm afraid that it's necessary. The world is sick. We need this, to heal it. Yes, it will be a terrible tragedy. But think how many more lives we can save afterward. It's the few for the good of the many, Angela. _You_ should know that better than anyone. You were the one who instituted that policy after the dreadful incidents of our younger years..."

But Angela would not be overruled. "I thought we agreed," she said in a deadly serious voice, "To never mention that again. And the world can be healed other ways, Daniel. I've seen it. And it all starts with our son, Arthur! It all starts with Peter. He can save the world. He can do what we never could. You know I'm right. I've told you what kind of power he'll have in the future. We don't have to push this bomb! If we do the right things, we can prevent it from ever happening at all!"

I glanced at Peter. "What are they talking about?" I whispered. He shrugged, looking as confused as I did.

"What sort of things?" Arthur asked. "Tell me."

She sounded hopeful as she explained. "I just dreamed it last night, just the once. But I think I know what we need to do to fix this before it even starts. We need him to know Kira and Allan's daughter. You saw the two of them at the bottom of the stairs," she said. "I had a dream about them last night. We need to encourage their friendship. If she's in his life, things will turn out differently." There was silence for a moment, and when she spoke again, she sounded pleading. "Arthur, Daniel. Everything I do, I do in the hopes that my boys will have a better life than I have. Than _we_ have. That the world they live in will be safer. That they will be happy. I've seen how the two of them could be. He could be happier than anything I ever arranged for either of them, if we just give them the chance to know each other. Daniel, please. Stop this mad plan of yours and let me try to fix things! Kira's told me that Dianne was never good at making friends, just like Peter, and it would benefit them both so much..."

But suddenly, her voice stopped. I peered through the tiniest crack in the door and was able to see Arthur staring at her intensely. Her mouth moved slightly, as if she were trying to speak, but no words came out. And then she dropped into a chair, staring blindly at her hands. She didn't seem to be aware of her surroundings. I didn't understand what had happened.

"You shouldn't do that any more," Daniel said conversationally. "I've told you, it's not good for her brain. You could hurt her rather badly."

Arthur brushed him off. "I'm very gentle with her," he said. "And you know as well as I do that she can't be allowed to know this isn't inevitable. It will be her influence more than anything that will convince Nathan to be the one we need. You heard that from her own mouth, not six years ago!"

"I suppose you're right," Daniel replied. "And speaking of six years ago, it _is_ Peter's birthday, is it not?"

At that moment, a hand descended on my shoulder. I whipped around and realized that the owner's other hand was on Peter's shoulder. A teenage boy, maybe eighteen or nineteen, was standing behind us with a frustrated look on his face.

"What are you doing, Pete?" he asked.

My newfound friend shuffled his feet. "Nothing," he said quietly.

The young man stared down at me. "Who are you?" he asked.

"I'm Dianne," I said, lifting my chin proudly. "Who are _you_?"

He grimaced at me. "I'm Peter's brother," he said. "What are you two doing up here? Were you eavesdropping?"

Peter stared at the carpet. "Sorry Nathan," he muttered.

I frowned at him, then turned my gaze back to Nathan. We hadn't been doing anything wrong. "We were just curious," I said, planting my hands on my hips and straightening my shoulders to make myself appear a little taller. "It was weird that they left the party."

Nathan opened his mouth to reply, looking angry, when the door swung open. I whirled around, and there were the three adults, looking down at us. "What's going on here, Nathan?" Arthur asked.

For a moment, I thought he was going to rat us out. _Tattletale_, I thought angrily, and glared at him over my shoulder. But to my great surprise, he covered for us instead. "I thought it might be a good time to give Peter his birthday present," he said.

Peter's face lit up and he stopped staring at the carpet to look hopefully at his brother.

Arthur's expression relaxed slightly, and he nodded. "Alright then," he said. "I suppose now is as good a time as any."

_The memory skipped again..._

We sat in Peter's bedroom, playing with the beagle puppy that Angela had bought for her son. "Have you thought of a name yet?" I asked.

He giggled as the energetic dog jumped up on his chest and knocked him backward onto the floor. She licked his face enthusiastically for several seconds before he managed to push her off and sit up. "Izzy," he said.

"Why?" Nathan asked from the doorway. "That's a weird name for a dog."

Peter shrugged. "But I like it," he said, looking downcast.

"So do I," I piped up. "It fits her. It's bouncy."

He laughed. Nathan threw me a disgusted look and walked away. "Why do you let him make you feel bad?" I asked.

He glanced up at me. "What do you mean?"

I shrugged. "Dunno. But Izzy really is a good name."

"It is, isn't it? C'mere Izzy!"

The puppy, completely ignoring him, bowled me over this time. I squealed happily as she buried her nose in my ear, snuffling enthusiastically. I hugged her to me, and she promptly squirmed out of my arms to bound over to Peter. She lowered her front end to the floor, tail wagging furiously in the air above her. Then with a yip, she leapt up into his arms and gave him puppy kisses again. He picked up one of the dog toys Angela had provided and tossed it for her. "Fetch, Izzy!" I cried happily. She dutifully pursued the rubber ball, but lost interest after a few minutes and returned to her favorite game of chewing on my hair. "Get off!" I said, but I didn't really mean it. I didn't mind the dog slobber.

Peter grabbed onto her tail and dragged her paws off my chest. "No Izzy!" he scolded, though it was obvious he didn't mean it. The puppy's exuberant bounciness allowed her to slip out of his grasp, and she launched herself at me again. I grabbed her and hugged her tight again.

Laughter issued from the doorway, and I let Izzy go in surprise. She bounded away from me to leap, yapping excitedly, at the knees of my mother. "It's getting late, Dianne. We have to get back to the airport if we're going to catch our flight back to Chicago."

"Aww, Mom!" I exclaimed. "Can't we stay a few more minutes?"

She laughed again. "And you were the one who didn't want to come! Alright, two minutes, then we really have to go. Come downstairs once you've said goodbye." She disappeared from view, Izzy following close behind, still barking excitedly.

Peter was looking at me, his wide eyes solemn. "You live in Chicago?" he asked. I nodded. "That's a long way away." I nodded again. "It's gonna be hard for us to be best friends if you live too far away, he said.

"Maybe you can come live with me," I suggested. "We've got a pretty big house. It's not as big as yours, but there are a bunch of extra rooms you could stay in. And you'd like the school I go to. I could introduce you to my friend Samantha. Except I don't call her Samantha, I call her Sam."

He smiled shyly. "That would be fun. I'll ask my mom."

I looked around for my shoes, which I had lost somewhere. Finding them, I slipped them onto my feet. "I guess I gotta go now, though," I said. Together, we walked down the hall and descended the staircase. When we arrived on the ground floor, I saw that most of the guests were getting ready to leave. A few of them smiled indulgently at us, though I saw Simone glaring at me from behind her father. Izzy wiggled her way between their legs.

As I walked up to the front door, my father held out my coat for me, and helped me slip it on. "Say goodbye to Peter," my mother instructed.

I turned back to Peter and hugged him. "You have to come visit soon," I said.

"I will," he promised, hugging me back.

When I let him go, my parents were smiling at me. "Come on, Dianne," my father said. I took his hand and dutifully followed him out into the snow. As I passed out of the house, I glanced back over my shoulder and saw Peter watching me go. I waved, and he waved back at me...

_...And suddenly I found myself back in Charles Deveaux's penthouse. He was watching me carefully, and though I more or less trusted him, I didn't want him to see how affected I was by the night's revelations._

_"There's more that you need to know," he said. "But it's not your memory. These would be mine. Is it alright if I show you?"_

_I shrugged. "Not like I can be shocked anymore tonight," I said, trying to make it sound off-hand. "That's about as big a surprise as I can get."_

_He looked like he disagreed, but the world swirled black, and then I burst through again into a different slant of light..._

The door swung closed behind us. I was disoriented. The memory was Charles's, and I kept wanting to see it from his point of view, but my sense of self was too strong to let me submit to the full swing of memory. As a result, I was seeing things from two different viewpoints, which was a rather nauseating perspective.

"So," Daniel Linderman said once everyone but he, Arthur, and Charles himself had left. "What do you make of that?"

"What, the Morten girl?" Arthur asked.

Linderman nodded. "Yes. She's rather interesting. Quite a personality." Arthur snorted. "And actually, I think Angela may be right. Miss Morten is an unexpected hiccup in our plan, and not one I particularly appreciate."

"What plan would that be?" Charles asked. "Is it your crazy scheme for New York again?"

"Always," Linderman said. "It's a certain thing. Angela's seen it."

Arthur shrugged. "I don't like it that she's waffling now. The ambiguity makes me uncomfortable. I don't like being uncomfortable. Daniel, you don't suppose we should take measures?"

The mobster considered. "I hate to say it, but I think it might be wise. If we're going to save the world, sacrifices have to be made."

Charles started. "You aren't talking about...! She's just a little girl, for the Lord's sake! What harm can she possibly do?"

Arthur didn't bother to look at him, swilling his brandy around in his glass. "She could be Peter's friend. It would throw off everything we've arranged for and make it impossible to predict. That's not a chance I'm willing to take."

"It would destroy the Mortens," Charles insisted. "Look, we've done some questionable things in the past, I'll admit that, for the greater good. But I've known Kira since she was still Kira Pratt and showed up on our doorstep, begging for help controlling her power. And she dotes on that little girl so much, I don't want to know what it would do to her if she lost Dianne. All I'm asking is that you think long and hard about this before you do anything rash."

Linderman sighed. "I suppose you're right, Charles," he said. "We'll just have to find some other way of keeping the two of them apart.

A tiny version of Simone Deveaux tugged on his pants leg. "Can we go home, Dad?" she asked. "I'm tired."

_The memory dissolved in a whirl of color..._

Charles sighed. "I should have known they only said that to placate me," he said. "They wanted you out of the way so they could continue with their mad designs. But they could never have predicted Kira's interference, cold-hearted bastards they'd become. Dianne, you have to understand that they weren't always like that. We were all idealistic in the beginning. But you can't fight all the evil in this world without being stained by it."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Wanna bet?" I challenged.

He didn't meet my angry stare. "You know the truth now," he said. "Now that you understand the past, you can shape the future. Dianne, I'm not Angela Petrelli. I don't know the future. But I know that she knows that you have the power to change everything. I'm not sure how, but you have to stick with Peter, no matter what. Remember that, Dianne. No matter how wise it seems at the time to separate, you have to stick by his side. Don't let him walk this dark path alone."

"What dark path?" I asked.

All the humor had disappeared from his manner. "Peter's life was never going to be easy. He was always so determined to do the right thing... people like that never get an easy time of it. And when he was born, Angela had a dream, about the sort of power he was going to have when he got older. And those two things combined... he's going to have a hell of a time of it, Dianne. You have to help him."

"Not that there's a chance in hell I _wouldn't_," I said. "He's the most important person in my life. I'm hitchhiking to Vegas, aren't I? I'll be there for him. I won't let him screw it up. Whatever "it" is, since you're not being very forthcoming."

Charles nodded sadly. "I suppose you won't," he said. "He's lucky to have a friend like you."

A hand shook my shoulder, and suddenly I was sitting bolt upright in the cab of the semi. "Wha--?" I mumbled blearily.

"We're here," the driver said. "We're in Vegas."


	42. Convergence and Confrontation

**A Note From Lara: This wasn't my best chapter, I'll admit. It's one I've been planning for a long time, and it didn't come out on (virtual) paper quite the way I'd imagined it in my head. You know how reality can never compare to what's in your mind? Well that's how it was with this, particularly the scene between Niki and Claire. I mean, it's alright, but it's nothing special. So I apologize for failing both you and myself.**

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"Thanks for the ride," I said. "I really appreciate it."

The driver waved his cap at me as he pulled away, and I was left standing on the outskirts of Vegas. As he turned a corner, I found myself wondering "Okay, what now?" I reached into my duffel bag, which was still slung over my shoulder, and fished out the scrap of paper that had Niki's address scribbled down on it. I could probably find the house, as long as I could figure out how to get to her street.

It took me several minutes of walking, but I was finally able to find a gas station attendant who could tell me how to get there. Unfortunately for me, it was a forty block walk to the house in question. My bag suddenly felt like it weighed several tons.

Snap out of it girl, I told myself. I was tough. I'd spent nine years turning every inch of my body into a perfected weapon. I could definitely handle a long walk. Of course, I didn't particularly _want_ to, but what I wanted had never factored into the equation.

Besides, the time would give me time to mull over my recent revelations. Peter and I had met before. That explained why I had thought he looked so familiar when I met him. Actually, if I thought about it, it was pretty cute. Very Storybook Ending. It was just a shame I'd never be able to get over my fear of rejection long enough to say how I felt.

I had met Peter Petrelli on his sixth birthday. Exactly two weeks later, on _my_ sixth birthday, my parents were dead. Not that it was anything new, but it suddenly hit me harder, because now I actually knew why. They had died because Daniel Linderman had wanted me dead when I was just a kid. They had been the first to die in our race to save New York, and the world.

Was it worth it? I asked myself. But I knew that answer. It absolutely was. If they hadn't been dead, who knows? Maybe my life would have been better. I wouldn't have been bounced through the foster-care system for ten years, for starters. But if they'd been alive, would I have been chosen, out of all the people in the world, to go meet Clark Kent and help take part in shaping his destiny? I didn't think so. And if that had never happened, I'd never have met Bruce. I wouldn't be as strong and as able to take care of myself as I was today. And what good was I to Peter without the things I could do?

Beyond that, I wouldn't be the person I was today. I'd probably be another Simone- delicate and beautiful and interesting and smart and perfect, but my parents would have done what parents do. They would have sheltered me, kept me safe. I'd never have been exposed to the dangers of the world- or any of the raw, burning beauty that you can only experience with the kind of life I had lead. Maybe I wouldn't even have believed Peter when he'd come to me and told me he could fly.

It was a fair trade, I decided. My parents for the person I'd become because of their sacrifice, and for the chance we had to save the world. It was alright. It made me mad as hell, but it was alright.

The sun passed its zenith and began its descent toward the horizon as I walked on. About an hour after I had begun, I came to a halt in front of a small house on a quiet street. I observed it for a moment. The house looked a bit run-down, but the lawn was free of weeds and the row of low bushes that ran along the front of the house was neatly trimmed. I walked up the driveway and knocked on the door.

A little boy with dark skin and curly black hair answered the door. "Hi," I said. "I'm looking for Niki Sanders?"

He nodded. "That's my mom," he said. Then he called over his shoulder, "Mom! There's someone here to see you!"

"Who is it Micah?" came a woman's voice from inside the house. Then she emerged. She was tall, every bit as tall as I was, with a cascade of long blonde hair and blue-grey eyes. "Who are you?" she asked, pushing her son behind her.

"My name's Dianne," I said. "I was sent to find you, Niki."

Niki gazed at me with a carefully blank look. "Sent?" she asked. "By who?"

I leveled my eyes at her. "May I come in?" I asked. "It's not something I'd prefer to discuss standing practically in the street." She stepped aside and allowed me to pass. Micah stared up at me with intent, highly intelligent eyes as she shut the door.

"I was sent here by my best friend," I said. "He's... he's special. You might understand, you might not, but he has... powers. And since he's sent me to you, I'm guessing you probably do, too."

She didn't say anything, but Micah made a sudden move, and I glanced down at him. His gaze, which had been attentive before, became positively burning. Attempting to ignore it, I said, "We're trying to save the world. In just under three weeks, a bomb is going to go off in the middle of New York City, and kill everyone. It's going to be a catalyst for a lot of really bad things. We're not sure just what. All we know is that a time traveler told us to save a cheerleader in order to stop it all. We did. Then my friend had a vision or something, and told me to come find you. I don't know why, but... I'm hoping maybe you do."

Niki sighed. "I don't know why he sent you to me. I don't know anything about bombs in New York."

Nathan's words at the hospital suddenly came back to me, and I played on a guess. "But maybe you work for Linderman?"

Her eyes snapped to my face and for a moment she looked... well, impressed was the only word for it. Micah, on the other hand, was staring at her for a change, disappointment on his face. "Who told you that?" she whispered.

I smirked. "Nathan Petrelli is my friend's older brother."

Her face went white for a moment and she bit her lip. Yep, she definitely understood what I was getting at. "I... I didn't want to," she said. "I needed the money, to get Micah into private school, and then..." She trailed away, and I felt an equal mixture of pity and satisfaction that I'd been right.

"I'm not sure how, but Linderman is behind this bomb. He's arranged it or something. Niki, I think I know why I was sent to you. I need you to get me into Linderman's office. Take me to the Corinithian Hotel. Get me past security."

She nodded. "Okay," she said. "Let me just... let me just get my keys." She hurried away.

_That was too easy_, I thought. It didn't seem quite... _right_. But I dismissed it. I'd had massive good luck in the past. Maybe the universe was deciding to smile on me today.

I suddenly became aware that Micah was still staring at me. "What's up with you?" I asked.

"You're trying to save the world," he said simply.

"More or less," I said. "Even though the stupid time traveler guy wouldn't tell me exactly what we're supposed to be saving it from."

"So you're like... a superhero?" he asked.

I nodded, then thought better of it. "Well, without the superpowers," I amended. "I guess you could call me, like, the Batgirl to my friend's Superman. Since I seem to be the _only_ person involved in this without them, since I'm guessing your mom does something special."

Micah took a deep breath. "You need to be careful," he said. "She has this... problem. There's this other person that comes out in her sometimes. She's called Jessica."

"Like multiple personalities?" I asked.

"Something like that. Just... be careful," he warned.

And then Niki appeared in the foyer, clutching her keys, and he was quiet. "Hey baby," she said, "You don't mind staying here by yourself for a little bit, do you?"

He shook his head. "No. I won't answer the door."

"That's my little man," she said, ruffling his hair. He shot me a look over her shoulder, and his wide eyes warned me again to be cautious with his mother.

* * *

_The dream was the same as it had been all along. Hiro and Ando, Matt Parkman, Mohinder, Simone and Isaac and Nathan, all of them fleeing him or watching in dejected silence. And there was Niki, and her husband and son. And there was Claire. She whispered her silent apology._

_And there was Dianne, and the mystery blonde came pelting out of an alleyway as if in slow motion. But something changed very suddenly. Instead of fleeing away after Mohinder, Claire paused. She changed direction and ran in the direction of Dianne instead. And the change spread. Niki paused in her headlong flight, then followed Claire. Together they formed a wall, and the blonde girl was halted in her tracks. Dianne stumbled, but kept her footing and ran along to him. Tanya and Spens emerged from an alleyway, where they hadn't been before._

_Everyone else suddenly stopped running, and instead turned and stared. Molly emerged from behind a taxi and watched them with solemn eyes. On the other side of the street, in the shadows behind the white-haired man, another man watched, laughing at him._

_Dianne came to a stop in front of him._

_"I took his power," he said, hardly able to hear his own voice over the muted silence. "I can't control it."_

_She smiled, and held out a hand to him. And then the radiation he had been fighting with burst forth, and the street he stood on disappeared in a flash of blinding white light. The last thing he saw was her face, still smiling..._

Peter sat up with a loud scream.

* * *

I'll admit it, I was a bit nervous as we approached the two beefy men who guarded the doorway to the executive area of the Corinthian Hotel, but they just grinned at Niki and waved us past. "Is it just me, or are we in a Staples commercial?" I asked.

"What?"

"That was easy," I explained.

She didn't reply, choosing to watch our surroundings carefully instead. "It's the last door on the left here," she said finally. "I'll guard the door for you, okay?"

I paused. The day had been pretty good so far- I hadn't had too much trouble getting in- but it was also putting me on edge. Nothing was this easy, even on my best days. There was always some unexpected complication, and I was just waiting for the other boot to drop. "There aren't any other entrances to the office, are there?" I asked.

"Not unless you can walk through walls," she said, then laughed as if at some private joke.

I pushed open the door cautiously. Before I stepped through, I checked carefully on either side of the door for some kind of trip laser or security alarm. Seeing none, I went in and closed the door behind me. Hurrying over to the desk, I opened the center drawer, directly under the lip of the desk. It was the least likely place for secret files and things to be stashed, but it was also the best place to start because it was the place where you could learn the most about a person.

What I found was definitely revealing. In addition to the usual litter of pens, paper clips, and rubber bands, I discovered an unframed photograph lying on top of the office detritus. I picked it up and turned away to study it better in the light from the window. Turning my back away from the door was sloppy, I'll admit, but it wasn't my first mistake and it wasn't going to be my last that day.

The picture shocked me. It was a group photo. There in the center, smiling blithely up at me, was Angela Petrelli and a man I recognized in profile as her husband, Arthur. And there, Linderman, and Charles Deveaux, and several people I didn't recognize. Two more people I did recognize, however, and they shocked me more than anything. On the right side of the group stood a red-haired woman who could only be my Aunt Victoria. And there, on the opposite side, her younger sister, my mother.

From what I could tell, it had been taken the same night I had met Peter the first time. _A photo for the Company yearbook, maybe?_ I thought ironically to myself.

And that was when I felt the gun pressed to the back of my head. "Shit," I said, folding the photo quickly and stuffing it in the pocket of my utility belt, which I had thoughtfully buckled around my waist earlier. Then I raised my hands. The collar of my T-shirt was jerked down to expose my shoulder, and I could see the soft glow of a blacklight when I turned my head. To my very great surprise, I saw a black helix-symbol tattoo appear on my own shoulder under the light. "Yep, it's her, boss," a male voice said. "She's got the tattoo."

I turned slowly around to face my assailant. The guy with the gun was just some random bully-boy, but Linderman himself was standing in the doorway, along with Niki, who had her arms folded across her chest and a smirk on her face.

I glared at her. "Let me guess," I sneered, "Jessica, right?"

"The one and only," Linderman answered for her. "My dear Miss Morten, it's been far too long."

"Yeah," I said. "The last time I saw you, you were planning to kill me. Only, I guess that backfired, because you killed my parents, your _friends_ instead, and here I am."

He was clearly surprised that I knew so much. "Well well well, you _have_ been busy, haven't you? Tell me now, where have you been for the past ten years? We all missed you."

"I just bet you did," I muttered angrily.

Linderman gestured, and the thug pressed the gun against my forehead, backing me away from the desk. Once I'd vacated the area, Linderman took up his place behind it, and sat regally in his plush leather chair. "That doesn't answer my question though, Miss Dianne. Where have you been?"

There was no way I was answering his question. I wasn't that stupid- not that he'd believe me anyway. But I needed to buy time to deal with Trigger Happy, so I had to tell him something. "Let's just say I've been in a place where I learned how to be dangerous," I said.

"Oh really?" he said, with the amused air of someone indulging a child in delusions of grandeur. It infuriated me.

"Yes really," I said. "You know Sylar? The little serial killer your Company helped create? Yeah, I basically kicked his ass back in Primatech. Guess powers aren't all they're cracked up to be, are they Lindy-Boy?"

He fought to keep his face calm, but I could tell that rage was bubbling just beneath his surface. I have a tendency to do that. Even when my jibes are pretty pathetic. After a moment, his expression cleared somewhat, and he said, "Is that so? I suppose perhaps you're right. The empire I've built I created without using my own... _talents_... and look how well that's doing."

"You might not use your own talents," I said, "but you're using other people's powers, aren't you? Look at Niki-Jessica over here." I pointed at her and she glowered at me. "You're just his plaything, Jessica. You really think he's gonna keep you around once you screw up? Not a chance in hell. You'd be smart to cut your losses, take your son, and run. You could come to New York with us. Save the world, instead of trying to get rich from this guy. I have a sneaking suspicion this particular cash cow is gonna run dry pretty soon."

Linderman chuckled. "Do you really think you can turn her against me?" he said. "Jessica doesn't care about saving the world. She doesn't care about anyone or anything but money. I know for a fact that she would turn against me in a heartbeat if I stopped paying her. But I do pay her, and I pay her handsomely. She is mine. You could be mine, too."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Abandon this nonsense about saving the world, Dianne. Don't you see, that's what I'm trying to do here? Yes, the explosion in New York will be a tragedy, but it will be a catalyst for the greater good. We're going to heal the world. You could be a part of that."

For a moment, I stared at him, and a slow smile spread across Linderman's face. He thought he'd gotten through to me. "You have a point," I said. "Something like this would pull the world down on course. I'm not sure I like the method, but the ends... I suppose maybe the ends justify the means just a bit."

Linderman smiled wider. "That's a good girl. Now come here." He waved at the gunman, and the barrel was lowered away from my face. I approached the desk, hooking my thumbs through my belt casually. Once his desk obscured my hands from his sight, I slipped my fingers on each hand into two of the pouches on the utility belt and grasped what I was looking for. My hands found the activation button on the first device.

"What do you want?" he asked. "I can offer you any sum your heart desires."

"Mm, tempting offer," I said. "You're a great businessman. Shame you're such a sucky humanitarian. Think I'll pass." And with that, I ran at the window, really hoping the glass wasn't shatterproof.

It turned out that it was. I rebounded off the glass and into the arms of Jessica, who was suddenly behind me. I pulled my left hand out of the pouch and activated the pulse device. The glass shattered, but now I was trapped in a grip that was far too strong to be human. She wrenched me around and tightened her grip on my wrists still further.

I stamped on her instep and she gasped. Her grip loosened just enough that I was able to pull away, but not without doing something extremely painful to my shoulder. I yanked out the second device and dived backwards out the window. I heard voices yelling in the office behind me, but I was falling away too fast to hear what they said. The gunman stepped into the opening and fired down at me. He had terrible aim, which gave me time to send a magnetic launch line flying across the street to the rooftop of Caesar's Palace. I seized onto the grip with both hands as another bullet whizzed past me.

And then the line tightened, jerking my injured shoulder painfully. I hissed, and then I was flying low across the street and up onto the roof of the wide first level of the casino. I let go of the launch line and rolled across the gravel rooftop, slamming hard against it.

"Oh fuck!" I screamed as I landed on my shoulder, causing additional agony.

But I wasn't safe yet. Another bullet ricocheted off a steam vent next to me, and I ducked behind it. I pressed the button to deactivate the magnetic grip on the end of the launch line and it dropped from the roof of the casino and landed next to me in a curled heap. I picked it up, stuffed it back into my pouch, and took off at a painful sprint toward the end of the roof, ducking out of sight behind the upper levels of the building, which were narrower than the rest of the ground floor.

* * *

Jessica watched as Linderman's thug repeatedly missed the surprisingly acrobatic Dianne Morten. He continued firing, wasting shot after shot once she'd disappeared around the building across the street. "You want me to go after her?" she asked off-handedly.

Linderman shook his head. "I have someone to take care of it. Thank you, however, for bringing her to me. You'll be receiving the photo of your next by mail very soon."

"Don't I get paid for this one?" she demanded.

"I don't think so," he said, too involved in studying his shattered window to look at her. "You let her get away. I was counting on you to restrain her if Jeremiah here should fail to control her."

"Not my fault she's got moves," Jessica said sharply. "I _will_ expect a check." She walked to the door.

Linderman chuckled. "I wouldn't hold my breath, my dear," he said softly. Jessica paused in the doorway to stare at him. Then she snorted disgustedly and walked away.

Once she was gone, he crossed to his desk, lifted the telephone from its cradle, and dialed. "Candice, could you bring Miss Walker to my office, please? Thank you." He sat down in his desk and waited. After some minutes, a young woman with dark hair entered the room, followed by a little girl of maybe nine or ten. "Ah, Molly," Linderman said jovially. "How good to see you again!" He glanced up at the other woman. "Thank you, Candice. That will be all."

Molly Walker nodded hesitantly. "Hi Mr. Linderman," she said.

"I'm sorry I haven't been able to visit you recently," he said, "but I've been very busy. There's someone I'm trying very hard to find. Do you think you could help me?"

She shrugged. "Depends on why you want to find them," she said. "Mr. Linderman, I know what you did to the last person I found for you. I don't want you to hurt any more people."

He chuckled good-naturedly. "Molly, dear, I don't want to hurt anyone. I'm just looking for the daughter of a friend of mine, whom I haven't seen in a very long time. She was here a few minutes ago, but I'm afraid I missed her, and I'd very much like to speak to her. Could you find Dianne Morten for me?"

"Dianne?" Molly said, brightening. "You're looking for Dianne? The dream man introduced me to her! Okay. I'll find her. I need a map, though."

Linderman pulled a map of the Las Vegas area out of his desk drawer and handed it to her. Her eyes slid closed and her finger passed over the map. As he watched, she began to shudder, and her face twisted in pain. She pointed at a spot on the map, and her eyes popped open again. "She's there," Molly whispered. And then she collapsed, blood dripping from her nose.

Candice rushed back into the room. "Take her to the infirmary on Level Three," Linderman instructed. Candice lifted the unconscious little girl into her arms and carried her out.

Then he picked up the phone and dialed. "Miss Bishop, we have the location of your target..."

* * *

Claire hopped off the bus, looking around. Now that she was in Vegas, she wasn't quite sure how to proceed. Dianne had said she was going to see someone named Niki Sanders, but that wasn't much to go on. What would Dianne do? What would her father do?

Explore all options. Claire looked around for the nearest phone booth, and searched through the white pages for the S listing. There were six Nicole Sanders living in Las Vegas. She ripped out the page and hailed a cab, suddenly very glad that Zack had paid for her bus ticket, because she was going to need all her spare cash, including that that she'd borrowed from her father's savings account...

Twenty minutes later, she was getting frustrated and afraid that she'd never find the woman she was looking for. She pulled up to the third house on her list and, as always, instructed the cabbie to wait for her. She rapped on the door. A blonde woman answered. "Niki Sanders?" Claire asked.

"That's me," the woman said.

"My name is Claire Bennet. I'm looking for a woman name Dianne Morten. Maybe she came to see you recently?"

Claire knew she had found the right one by the way Niki's eyebrows flew up in surprise at the mention of Dianne. She turned around and waved the cabbie away. "I need to find her. Do you know where she is?" she asked.

"How should I know?"

She sighed. "Please, can I come in?"

Niki shrugged, and stepped aside to allow her into the house. "Something to drink?" she offered.

Claire nodded. "Thanks."

"You can wait in the living room," Niki said, pointing into the room just off the hall. Then she disappeared into the kitchen. Claire perched herself uncomfortably on the worn sofa, looking around her. The house was small, and definitely not in the best shape compared to her house back in Odessa, but it had a feeling of warmth about it that Claire couldn't help but appreciate.

A boy appeared in the doorway. "Who are you?" he asked.

"My name's Claire," she said. "What's yours?"

"I'm Micah," he said. "Are you a friend of Dianne's?"

Claire smiled. "Something like that. I really need to find her."

Micah shuffled his feet. "My mom took her to Linderman earlier," he said. "She didn't come back."

"Linderman the mob boss?" Claire asked.

Micah nodded. "Yeah. I'm afraid for her." He studied Claire for a moment, then he said, "You're the cheerleader she talked about saving, aren't you?" When Claire started at his perception, he grinned. "I thought so. Listen, you have to help my mom. She's got a... problem. And Mr. Linderman's running our life. If you can save the world, can't you save us?"

She hesitated. She had no idea what to say here. "I don't know," she said with a sigh. "I barely even know what's happening to me, let alone being able to fix everybody else's problems. People are expecting me to save them, and I don't know how."

He looked disappointed, but a sudden raised voice in the kitchen caught their attention. The voice dropped back out of audibility, but Claire was curious enough to rise from her seat to investigate. She and Micah crept to the doorway and peered into the other room.

"Please, please, just leave her alone!" the voice whispered. "Just let her go. She's just a kid! Please!"

Niki stared at her own reflection in the toaster, and smirked. "Oh poor little Niki. Bleeding heart. She's connected with this... thing. And we need the money don't we, sister? If we bring her to Mr. Linderman, he'll forgive us for that little screwup you made, coming out in the middle of the Dianne job. It's your fault she got away, and I'm not gonna let you screw this up again."

The reflection suddenly moved _separately_ from the real thing, meeting Claire's eyes and gesturing desperately for her to run. But Claire was too amazed to move. The woman outside the reflection whirled around to see Claire in the doorway.

"You were gonna take me to Linderman?" Claire gasped. "No, you can't! Please, I need your help!"

Niki (was she Niki?) smirked at her, then ever so slowly, pulled a knife out of the block and approached her. "I have to protect Niki. I have to protect Micah. And anything connected with Dianne Morten is dangerous. It'll get me in trouble with my boss, and I can_not_ afford that."

Claire backed away, but the older woman moved with surprising speed. "Mom, no!" Micah screamed, but it was too late. The knife was protruding from the center of Claire's chest. Then a quick thrust of her fist, and the teenager was flying back against the wall to land in a crumpled, bloody heap on the floor.

Micah was sobbing. "Mom, no, no," he mumbled.

She knelt down beside her son, but he shoved her away. Something shifted and... "Micah?" she whispered.

"M-mom?" he asked. "Is that really you?"

Just as Niki was about to answer, she spotted the blood-stained body of the girl lying against the wall. "Oh god, did I--?" she gasped. "Oh no, oh no oh no!"

But all at once, the girl shifted. She took a gasping breath, then stumbled to her feet. Her spine snapped into place, and she yanked the large knife out of her chest. She spat on the floor and wiped her bloody lips. Then she looked up to meet the astonished gazes of mother and son. "_Now_ will you help me?" she demanded. "Or would you like to kill me a few more times first?"


	43. Flashpoint

**A Note From Lara: Alright, I know I promised I'd have this up by Sunday. So sue me, I got distracted by the prospect of seeing I friend I haven't seen in months! Whatever, I'm getting this updated aren't I? This chapter didn't turn out quite as well as I'd hoped, but once again, it's one of those that I've been planning for a long time, so maybe it's just my perspective on it that makes it sour.**

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Tanya and Spens

New York City

He knocked on the door, but didn't get any answer. As he was about to tap again, he paused, because he heard the music. Inside the apartment, someone was playing a flute with heartbreaking tenderness.

Glad that he had figured out where Tanya kept the spare key (inside the radiator next to the door), he quietly slipped inside the apartment, then followed the sound into the living room, where Tanya was perched on the edge of the sofa, eyes fixed on a piece of sheet music on the wire stand in front of her. Her fingers fluttered across the keys, producing a delicate tone as she soared through the piece.

When she finished, he applauded, and she jumped in surprise. "The Carnival of Venice," he said matter-of-factly. "I didn't know you played."

Tanya shrugged, brushing her strawberry hair off her shoulders. "I haven't really played much since high school. I mean, I was in an orchestra in college for awhile, but it was just too much on top of studying so... I just... I don't know." She turned scarlet as she spoke. "With everything that's been going on, I sort of wanted to reach out to something familiar."

After a moment of silence, Spens said, "I play the saxophone."

"Really?" she said in surprise. "I thought you sang in that band. Winterstorm, right?"

He nodded. "No. I mean, yeah. I do. But I played the saxophone first. I haven't really played since high school either. I still have it up in my apartment somewhere, though. Provided it didn't get destroyed."

Tanya smiled. "Maybe we'll have to play a duet sometime," she said.

Spens thought he'd like that. "Maybe. So, um, aren't we supposed to be meeting The Nutty Professor to go see his new Internet buddy or whatever?"

"Oh crap, I totally forgot!" Tanya exclaimed. "God, Mohinder's gonna be so pissed if we don't show! Give me three seconds to put this thing away!" She proceeded to take the head and foot joints from the flute and place them carefully in the velvet-lined case. "Alright, let me find some shoes and we can get out of here."

Dianne

Las Vegas

I limped along the sidewalk, swearing every time my movements caused my twisted ankle to throb or jostled my injured shoulder. I was pretty sure it was dislocated, but until I got far enough away to avoid the bully-boys Linderman would probably send after me to stop running, I couldn't take the time to stop and examine it. Regardless, I was going to have some impressive bruising. And if I was lucky, maybe one of the numerous cuts from the glass would leave me with yet another interesting scar.

I had been an idiot, I concluded as I stumbled across the freeway to the (ever so slightly) more residential part of Vegas. What had I been hoping to find here anyway? Not answers, that was for sure. I'd assumed, once I intuited that Niki- or rather, Jessica- worked for Linderman, that I was here to infiltrate his office and find... something.

Preferably something incriminating. Something that would take him down for good and put a halt to his scheming because- as I'd only just realized with the restoration of my memories- he was obviously doing everything he could to further the explosion of New York City. But apparently that was a wash, since I'd been so thoroughly repulsed in my first attempt.

And now, if I was going to avoid being caught by him and dragged back to Primatech or who-knew-where, I was going to have to be unpredictable. I'd been in bad situations before and I knew that, barring some horrible twist of fate, I'd be able to get back to New York with no trouble. But doing that would mean forgoing my chance to take Linderman down... for now, at least.

I liked the sound of that. Because now that I knew what I knew, there was no way I was ever going to end this. I'd do it for my parents, if for no other reason (which, of course, there were plenty of). Linderman, and anyone who shared his goals, were going down. I'd make sure of that, even if I had to raise an army of Specials to do it.

So maybe the trip hadn't been a _complete _waste. But it was hard to really believe that when I was bleeding, broken, and essentially beaten for the time being. I was injured. I was vulnerable. And I was alone in the middle of a city I'd never visited before. How could things possibly get any worse?

Yeah, fact of life #1- If you're me, NEVER ask that question. Because the universe will find a way to show you just exactly how.

At that exact moment, I turned onto a palm tree-lined side street. A petite blonde who'd been leaning against a shiny orange Camaro straightened up and stepped in my path. As I met her eyes, which were as vibrantly blue as my own, I recognized her. My stomach hit the floor.

"Hey ninja-girl," she said smugly. "Heard you got away from Jessica. Nice work."

She raised her hand and a ball of bright blue electricity formed in her palm, erasing any doubts I'd had that this was the electric girl from Isaac's paintings, the girl who might kill me. Elle, if I recalled the videos of her and Sylar correctly. Shit. I'd expected to meet her at the top of my game, full of my usual cocky confidence and ready to kick some serious ass. Not like this, not immediately after having my arm practically wrenched out of its socket by a super-thug. It was too soon, I wasn't ready!

But I mustered myself and said, "Yeah, Elle, something like that," I said. She started when I said her name. "Incidentally, I also beat up Gabriel Gray a few days ago. Nice to know someone's cleaning up your mess, isn't it?"

Her face turned white. "What are you talking about?" she hissed, the electricity clutched in her hand sparking out in random directions as she grew agitated.

"Oh please," I said scornfully. "I've seen that surveillance video. So you and Sylar, huh? That's... oddly fitting."

The reaction wasn't anything I could have predicted. Though her jaw was set in determination and now she was cradling sparking balls of energy in _both_ hands, there were tears of frustration and regret in her eyes. "Shut up," she said in a voice that she was trying and failing to keep from quavering. "Just shut up!"

I smirked, falling back on the tactic I had used so successfully so many times. That is, keep them talking until something falls in your favor. "Oh, yeah, like I'm gonna take orders from _you_. Come off it, Elle. I'd make ten times the agent you are. I can actually get stuff done _without_ selling out my body, for starters. Did you actually care about the poor sap, or were you just teasing him because it was fun?"

But apparently I pushed the wrong button (like usual), because she shrieked and hurled lightning in my direction...

Tanya, Spens, Mohinder

New Jersey

"So, remind me who we're going to go see again?" Spens asked, sounding extremely bored in the backseat as he interrupted Tanya and Suresh's very uninteresting discussion about DNA. Spens had met the professor the day before, and he wasn't impressed by the Indian man, no matter how brilliant he was. Of course, it didn't help that he was infinitely jealous of Tanya's obvious preference for Suresh.

Tanya glared at him for interrupting, but it was Suresh who answered. "A man named Zane Taylor," he said. "From what my father's research shows, he has the genetic tag that would mark someone with these abilities. And when I called yesterday, the guy was completely panicked about something. My guess is that he has a very unstable ability and it's frightening him."

Spens forced a smile. "Great," he said. "Guess now we know why you want the big guns coming along, don't we _Professor_? Mystery ability running wild, just great."

Tanya's frown became even more pronounced. "Do I have to remind you that just last week you were in practically the same condition?" she hissed. "Behave, Spens."

They pulled up in front of a nondescript apartment building, and with Suresh leading the way, they made their way up the steps and knocked on apartment 09 as spelled out by the directions on the Post-it note the geneticist had clutched in his hand.

A man wearing a Ramones T-shirt, with spiky dark hair and pronounced eyebrows, opened the door. "You must be Doctor Suresh," he said, smiling at Mohinder. "I'm glad to meet you."

Dianne

Las Vegas

Everything happened very quickly and very slowly all at once. I saw the electricity shooting out of Elle's hands towards me, and all at once there was someone between us, taking the blast instead of me. At the same moment, someone slammed into me from the side and knocked me to the pavement. I gasped as I landed on my damaged shoulder, and then another weight landed on top of me, jamming it against the pavement even harder. Then the person rolled off me and the weight disappeared.

For a moment, I was dazed, head swimming a little from the pain in my arm. Then my vision cleared and I looked around. Claire was standing where I had just moments before, electricity searing across her whole body. She was obviously in pain, but she wasn't giving an inch as her burns healed instantly.

"Why won't you just _die_?" Elle screamed, hurling yet another bolt at the cheerleader. "What are you?"

I looked around and saw, of all people, Jessica (or was it Niki right now?) sitting next to me, looking a little stunned.

Before I could say or do anything, Claire stepped forward. Though she was grimacing in pain as Elle blasted her again and again, she pressed relentlessly through the current of electricity until she was standing right in front of the electrogenicist. As Elle sent one final charge into her, Claire seized her by the wrists, causing the current to flow right back into her.

Elle screamed, then apparently managed to cut the charge and dropped to her knees, looking (not to make a horrible pun) rather shocked. "Who are you?" Claire demanded. The other blonde didn't reply, looking like she couldn't quite believe what had happened.

As Jessica-Niki helped me to my feet, I glanced at Claire. "What are you doing here?" I demanded.

"My house burnt down," she said sadly. "A radioactive man exploded it, and the Company kinda found out about me. I needed to find someone who could help me and... well, you and Peter were the first ones I thought of."

I sighed. "Well that's... reassuring, I guess. Being confidence-inspiring is always a bonus. But I'm assuming that was more Peter than me. He tends to do that to people." Then I looked at Niki (Jessica?). "Alright, so who am I dealing with?" I asked sharply.

"I'm me again," she said quietly. "Thanks to Claire. And you too. I don't know what she did to you, but whatever it is, I'm so sorry."

I nodded. "Bygones. I've had a whole lot worse done to me before, for a lot less reason. Niki, why am I here? Peter told me to come find you, but that's all I know. Is there something you can do to help us save the world?"

She pushed a pin-straight blonde lock behind her ear. "I don't know. I don't even know what's going on in my own head, let alone the world..." Her blue-grey eyes were regretful, but she clearly meant exactly what she said. "I can't help you."

_Well, if Niki doesn't have anything obvious to tell me, why the hell am I here?_ I wondered. Maybe I was supposed to help her? But when I voiced that thought, she shook her head firmly. "No," she said. "My mess is my own. I'll clean it up myself. I don't want to get you involved with Linderman. It's bad enough that I am."

"Oh believe me," I said, feeling a little more like myself. "I'm already involved with Linderman. If "involved" means "taking him down by any means necessary", that is." I glanced down at Elle, who was still sitting on the pavement, staring up at us. "What are we gonna do about her?" I asked.

Niki snorted. "Just leave her here," she said. Then she glanced between Claire and me. "Um, I'll take you back to get your stuff, and drive you to... wherever you need to go."

I was kind of reluctant to leave Elle there, but it sort of made sense to me. Despite my dislike of loose ends, I had a sneaking suspicion that Elle wasn't going to come after us any time soon... especially after I knocked her out with a swift blow to the back of the head, just hard enough to send her to Dreamland for a good long time without causing any serious damage.

Tanya, Spens, Mohinder, and "Zane"

New York

"I'm dreadfully sorry to leave you in the lurch like this," Suresh said as he dropped Tanya and Spens off outside their building. "Are you sure you don't want to come with us?"

Tanya shook her head. "I'd love to, Mohinder, but I would get so fired it wouldn't be funny." She bounced away, waving.

Spens nodded to Suresh. "Thanks," he said. "It, uh, it was good to meet you, Zane." The man gave him a creepy feeling, but still. It was nice to meet somebody else with a really destructive power, somebody who understood what he had been going through. "I'd come with you guys, but I don't actually have a job at the moment, so I wouldn't have the cash to go on a road trip anyway."

He was about to slam the door of the cab shut when suddenly Mohinder stopped him. "Actually, Spens, if you need a job, I might be able to help you. The NYTA needs more drivers rather badly. I could speak to a few people..."

"I don't need your charity," Spens said.

Mohinder smiled. "No, it's the very least I can do, really," he said. "You and Tanya, you were the first ones to prove to me that my father's theories weren't crazy. You've helped me more than you know. Let me give a little of that back."

In the back seat, Zane Taylor rolled his eyes. They were pathetic little whiners, both of them, he thought. All this posturing, all this false politeness (although perhaps not _quite_ as false on the professor's part), it was clear that they were both interested in the girl. He couldn't wait to get back to the city after their road trip, guaranteed to be bloody, in order to steal both of the powers he had witnessed today.

By then, the two men had finished their standoff (which was ridiculous because there was no girl around who needed impressing anyway), and Zane waved a falsely cheerful goodbye to the redheaded musician. And then he wondered if there was something in that. Two musicians in one day- the real Zane and now Spens- with abilities. It would be worth looking into later.

"Alright, where to, Dr. Suresh?" he said.

Dianne and Claire

Las Vegas Airport

"So... what now?" I said. "You said you had a plan. What does it entail, exactly?"

Claire grinned, then pulled a piece of ostentatious black plastic from her purse. "Company-issue credit card," she said. "I swiped it from my dad's wallet before I left. And then my friend helped me hack his information. I bought open-ended tickets out of this airport for New York."

I stared at her. Clearly, I had vastly underestimated this cheerleader. "Wow," I said. "You really know how to play this game. I gotta give you credit for that one. It took me years in the intrigue world before I started thinking ahead like that."

Very true. Figuring out that my actions had consequences had taken me awhile.

"I'm starting to think that I can't just... rely on other people to save me. Getting attacked was an eye-opener, you know? And then when Ted showed up..." She shrugged.

Ah yes. The infamous Ted. She had told me this story of a nuclear man, and I couldn't help but put that together with the bomb in New York and Isaac's painting of an exploding man. Lovely. So now not only did I have all the rest of this on my plate, I had to worry about Ted as well.

Claire and I went through the luggage check without incident (once again due to Bruce's ingenious jamming device), and proceeded to sit in the concourse. For hours. Have I mentioned that I hate airports? A lot? The Batplane was always way more convenient. I really hoped Peter would figure out how to use his powers really quickly, because this whole (semi) public transportation thing was getting on my nerves. For the thousandth time, I wished I'd brought the bracelet Kara made for me back to this world. It would have been more useful than all of Bruce's tech combined.

As I rubbed my shoulder absently, Claire asked, "Are you okay?"

"Oh, yeah, sure. I just had a run-in with Niki's crazy alter-ego. She apparently had a problem with me hurling myself out a window and tried to stop me," I explained. "Wrenched my stupid shoulder. Which is just freaking _great_. Worst _possible_ time to get hurt, and I manage to screw my shoulder up. It's gonna take at least week to get it back to normal." Then I brightened. "Thank god we definitely have a week. Hiro said the explosion happens on November 8, so we've got three weeks exactly."

Claire sat back in her seat with a sigh. "How did this happen to my life?" she demanded. "All I wanted was for everything to just go back to normal. Instead it's just gotten worse."

She sounded too much like Clark for me to miss an opportunity to re-use all my "normal life sucks" speeches I'd given him back in the day. "Claire, I've got news for you," I said. "Normal life is so overrated it's not funny. And trust me, I know. Normal life was part of what made me such a screw-up as a teenager. Believe me, this is a helluva lot more fun."

"But... what will people say about me if they find out? I'm a freak!"

I laughed. "Ha! You're not a freak, you're _lucky_! Do you know how much I wish I was invincible? It would make doing what I do so much easier."

Claire looked at me. "What exactly is it that you do?" she asked.

That was a toughie. It would be hard to explain without telling her about my time in the Elseworlds. I might be willing to spill my deep dark secrets about where I'd spent the last nine years to my best friend and my roommate, but that was different. What Claire didn't need to know, wouldn't hurt her. Carefully, I said, "I guess you'd call me something of a vigilante. I protect people, or try to. Stop bad guys. A few months ago, I tried to give it up. Got a job working as Nathan Petrelli's secretary to try and start a life that I'd built myself. See, I was just sort of thrust into this whole thing by chance, when I was sixteen years old, and I just ran with it and spent a long time training to become who I am. And I was tired of living in the shoes I knew belonged to somebody else. So I quit. But I guess it's in my blood, because the second Peter came to me and told me he could fly, I just dove right back in."

"Peter can fly?"

"Well, Nathan can fly. Peter just sorta picked that one up. But he's really bad at it. Actually, he's really bad at managing his powers, period. I was coaching him on that, but then, well, we found out we had to save you and..."

Claire's eyebrows climbed up her forehead. "You were coaching him on how to use powers?" she said doubtfully. "I thought you didn't have any?"

"Peter's not the first person I've taught to fly," I said. "Like I said the other day, welcome to my life. But either way, we're trying to stop an exploding man and we have no idea how or even who." Then I amended, "Well, _maybe_ we know who, but that just doesn't make sense. Why would Peter be a bomb? I mean, yeah, he's not the greatest at using his powers but he was getting better! Give him a few weeks and he'll be just fine. And he's the single most caring person in the world- there's no possible reason he would ever explode intentionally! It doesn't make any sense. And they want me to figure it out. They think I'm supposed to be able to put the pieces together. And I'm good at that. But... none of the pieces even _fit_! If I step back and look at it, it looks like Peter's going to explode, but that's just not possible. He would never. He's too... he's too good!"

It had been awhile since I'd allowed my thoughts to fly so fully into my words. I hadn't talked like this since the last time Peter and I had had a heart-to-heart, and I was beginning to think that Claire had that same intently listening way about her that he did, that just made you talk and talk until suddenly all the things you didn't want anybody to know about came pouring out of your mouth. Yet one more thing to add to my list of reasons that composed my theory that they were related.

But thinking about Claire's paternity was clearly the last thing from her own mind. She leaned forward conspiratorially and said, "So, how long have you been in love with him?"

Yeah, throw me for a loop, why don't you?

"W-what?" I stuttered.

She smirked, green eyes sparkling. "It's pretty obvious from the way you talk about him," she said.

"You," I said, "are imagining things. I'm not in love with Peter Petrelli."

Claire sat back again, apparently disappointed that I wouldn't spill. "Oh no," she said. "He's _just_ your best friend, and you _don't_ light up when you talk about him."

There was no real way to counter that, so I chose to remain silent. Which, I have to admit, is really, really hard. I like to talk. Not about certain subjects, such as whether or not I happen to be in love with my best friend, but awkward silences were never really my favorite thing. Unfortunately, Claire suddenly looked absorbed in her thoughts, and so I was left at that place in conversation, which sent my mind running back to it's favorite topic of late, Peter.

I had a strange feeling that something was wrong. It could have just been my subconscious concern about what was wrong with him. Because no matter how hard I tried to tell myself otherwise, the fact was that Peter was dying. He was going to die if he didn't wake up, and soon. My eyes stung just thinking about it, and I tried very hard to send my mind down different paths.

Tanya and Spens

New York City

Tanya was standing outside his door when Spens arrived upstairs. "You didn't have to be so mean to Mohinder!" she pronounced, arms crossed and glaring fiercely up at him. Despite her small stature, she was somewhat intimidating.

"Whatever," he said tiredly. He just didn't want to deal with this, too, after a whole day of watching her make cows eyes at the handsome Indian man.

But before either of them had time to say anything more, the last thing they'd ever expected suddenly happened. Peter ran at full-tilt up the stairs, a wild look in his eyes. He looked a little pale, but otherwise you'd never have realized he'd just spent a week in a catatonic state in the hospital. "Tanya, Spens, thank god!" he gasped. "Where's Dianne?"

"Peter?" Tanya asked, flabbergasted. "What are... how...?"

He didn't seem to hear her. "I was trying to... I thought I would get out of the city, I have to go away or everyone's gonna die. But then, the invisible man, he... he said... but that doesn't matter. I have to see Dianne. Where is she?"

Spens crossed the intervening space and put a concerned hand on Peter's shoulder. "Calm down a second, man. Breathe. What the hell happened to you, anyway?"

Peter just shook his head. "It's too complicated to explain right now," he said. "I'm... I'm dangerous. As long as I'm here, the whole city's at risk. I have to leave, soon. But I need to see Dianne first. I need to tell her that... Look, I just need to talk to her. Where is she?"

"She's not here," Tanya said. "She called me four days ago and told me that you said to go find somebody in Las Vegas. Niki somebody. She said she'd be back as soon as she could, but I haven't heard from her since."

Peter looked desperate and, if that were possible, even more skittish and wild than before. "Then I gotta leave," he said. "I've gotta go, now." Pulling his key from his pocket, he unlocked his apartment and practically flew inside, leaving the door wide open behind him. Tanya and Spens stared at each other, then followed him.

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**Guess what? I'm gonna let you in on a secret. Dianne has a power! *applause* Yes, I know you all guessed it would happen eventually. But I have a contest of sorts. I want to see what you think her power will be. Leave a review and give me a guess. But you're disqualified from the contest if I've already told you what it is.**


	44. A Different Sort of Homecoming

**A Note From Lara: This first scene is sort of weird and short, because I meant to stick it in last chapter but I was in a hurry to publish and I sorta forgot. Guess that's what you get when you have no beta and never reread your stuff before you update... Anyway, remember that first triptych that took Dianne to Isaac's loft in the first place? Yeah, that stuff comes up again in this chapter. If you don't remember, it's best to go back and review. I understand, this fic is really, really long and relatively complex, so maybe going back and rereading is a good option.**

**Also, the meeting between Meredith and Claire DID happen. I just didn't show it. I feel the need to let you know, because it might come up in later chapters.**

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_Dianne and Claire_

_Las Vegas Airport_

I flopped back against the chair, puffing out my breath to blow away a long strand of dark hair that had fallen into my eyes. "Lovely," I groaned. "Just freaking lovely." The flight times on the board had shifted again to indicate that our flight would be delayed yet _another_ hour. "You know, we had this problem when we were flying down to Texas to save you," I said. "That was really irritating. Why can't the stupid weather just _cooperate_?"

Claire shrugged, looking slightly depressed. "I don't know. We can't really control anything in our lives, can we?"

"Speak for yourself!" I exclaimed. "I mean, control might be an illusion, but it's a damn good illusion if it is." Then I paused to think about that for a moment. "Although, you know, my usual status in control is... well, out of."

She laughed, a little sarcastically. "No, I couldn't tell," she muttered. "So, um, what was your point in coming to Vegas anyway?"

"I have no idea. There must have been something, but I couldn't see it. And getting you somewhere safe seems more important right now, so whatever it is is going to have to wait," I explained. Very suddenly, something occurred to me. "Hey, how did you and Niki find me, by the way?"

"Niki's son," Claire explained. "Micah has an ability. He talks to machines. He rigged up his laptop to pick up signals from traffic cameras, and we were able to track you down that way."

There were plenty of answers I would have expected, but that wasn't one of them. "Huh. Inventive."

I was beginning to really wish I had an ability. Peter, Tanya, Spens, Claire, Nathan... When it came down to it, really everyone I knew had one. I was sort of the odd one out, it looked like. Don't get me wrong, I was more than capable of handling myself without any advantages, but they sure made things easier. Maybe I'd actually have been able to accomplish whatever Peter wanted me to do if I had some useful ability to smooth things out.

To distract myself from that particular irritation, I tried to make conversation with a very morose Claire. "So," I said, "if they actually stick to the departure time _this_ time, we should be back in New York by five-thirty or so tonight. But then, of course, we'll have to go through security and that takes _forever_, especially in New York."

Claire nodded, but she didn't seem to really be paying attention, staring across the concourse with her arms crossed and her jade eyes unfocused. Lovely. If this was what she was like when her life _wasn't_ in immediate danger, I really hoped she reacted well to adrenaline, because there was no way I wanted the fate of the world resting in her hands otherwise.

_Peter and Spens_

_Peter's Apartment- Manhattan_

"You aren't seriously gonna just... leave?" Spens

Peter shook his head. "I have to," he said, voice desperate. "As long as I'm in this city, everybody's in danger. I've got to go..." He turned back to his present activity, which consisted of stuffing as much of his stuff into a duffel bag as he could manage. Spens sighed. Tanya had told him to keep Peter occupied as long as possible, and he wasn't doing the best job of that at present. He had to buy time for Tanya to phone Suresh and Peter's brother.

"Look Peter, you gotta calm down. If you're gonna lose your shit over whatever, at least tell me what's happening!" Peter didn't reply. "Dude, you helped me out when I was totally losing it last week. At least let me return the favor."

He turned away from his packing again, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "Spens, last week, you might have brought down a building. Maybe. Yeah, people would've gotten hurt. But my ability... I'm gonna lose control. I've _seen_ it. And when I do, this whole city is gonna go up in a nuclear blast. The only way I can make sure everybody is safe is to leave, as soon as possible."

"Shit, man," Spens said, a little awed. He had gotten the sense from things Dianne had said that Peter had a lot of potential power. But the idea that a single man could actually bring an entire city down in ruins... it was crazy.

"I know," Peter said. "You understand why I've got to go, don't you? You know what it's like, being dangerous."

That made it infinitely harder for Spens to go on with this charade. Because he did know what that was like. He completely understood the terror that you would hurt someone. Until Peter had come into his apartment and pulled him out of the closet and promised him things would be okay, Spens had been sure that this was the end of him. And that, in the end, was what made the decision for him.

"Go, man," Spens said softly. "Go now."

Peter looked up at him.

The red-haired man pointed at the door. "Get out of here. Tanya's calling your brother. You don't want to be here when Nathan gets here. Go."

The empath picked up his bag and walked to the door, but turned back at the last moment. "Spens... thank you." And then he was gone. Not as if he had walked away. He just... vanished. Spens stared, google-eyed for a moment, before walking out the door himself. He could swear that, as he passed out of the apartment, something he couldn't see brushed against his arm. But that was probably just a spiderweb...

_Mohinder and "Zane"_

_New Jersey_

"Alright," Mohinder said as he pulled off the road into a somewhat seedy-looking roadside motel. "We'll stay here tonight, then head north first thing in the morning."

Zane tapped his foot impatiently. "Couldn't we go a little farther tonight? It just seems weird to stop practically across the river when we've still got a lot of daylight left. I mean, I'm okay with driving on for a few hours more."

Mohinder shrugged. "Well, that's wonderful, Zane. I'm certainly eager to find the first ones on the list but... are you sure?"

He nodded. "Definitely. All the people out there... waiting to be told that they're special... we need to find them, warn them about this Sylar person you told me about. If he's really hunting people like me, we should get there as fast as possible. It seems selfish to spend hours watching TV in cheap motels when we could be tracking them down."

Before Mohinder could reply, his cell phone rang. Holding up a finger to Zane, he took the call. "Hello?" His handsome face broke into an unconscious grin. "Tanya! This is a surprise. We just left you half an hour-- Oh. _Oh_. That's not... Peter Petrelli?" He frowned momentarily, thinking about it. "I remember something in my father's notes on him. He's got potential to be extremely powerful... or extremely dangerous, if he takes the wrong power. I was meaning to speak to him before I left... What do you mean, gone?"

There was a long pause, then Mohinder sighed. "Well then, it's already happened, hasn't it? What my father was concerned about. He's found a dangerous ability." Another pause. "I am not sure. Tanya, when Zane and I get back, I'll do everything I can to help him. I give you my word. Yes. I'll see you soon. Goodbye."

Zane had been listening to the conversation intently. "Who were you talking about? Peter Petrelli... is he like this Sylar? You said something about taking powers."

Mohinder shrugged. "It's the same principal, yes. Peter's power is a composite, if my father's formula is correct. His power allows him to adopt the characteristics of several different abilities. However, his is rather different than Sylar's ability, as Peter doesn't have to slaughter people to absorb their ability. It's... well, it's complicated. But he could be a danger to himself and everyone around him if he comes into contact with an unstable ability. It's imperative that we return to the city as soon as possible. He may need my help."

"Does that mean no road trip?" Zane asked pleadingly.

"No, of course not. We just have to get there faster. It seems we won't be stopping after all." He put the car in "drive" and pulled out of the motel parking lot. As he accelerated quickly, Zane grinned in anticipation...

_Angela_

_Petrelli Mansion_

Her crimson-stained lips were pursed as she waited for Daniel to answer her call. This was not going according to plan at _all_. In her heart of hearts, Angela was perhaps slightly glad of this. Peter was her favorite son, and she hated the idea of losing him now, just when he was coming into his power...

Daniel finally deigned to pick up the phone. "Ah, Angela," he said without even bothering to say hello. "I was expecting your call."

"Would you care to explain to me why I saw my granddaughter arriving in New York in the company of Dianne Morten?" Angela demanded, voice tight from carefully-controlled anger.

"I'm afraid she proved... resourceful," the mobster replied.

Angela sighed. "She has an ability?"

"No, I don't think so," Daniel replied. "If she does, she hides that very well. Even when she was struggling with Jessica Sanders, she didn't demonstrate anything unusual. No, she's just an extremely resourceful and extremely dangerous young woman. She'll prove very useful to anyone she allies herself with."

"Yes, well, unfortunately for you, Daniel, she's allied herself with my son, and if you'll recall, I told you twenty years ago that this would spell disaster for every last bit of your scheming."

Daniel's voice sounded tired when he replied. "And as always, you were right, my dear. She came to Vegas solely on his desire to track down darling Nicole. That takes a great deal of faith- she clearly thinks the world of Peter. Is there anything you can do to separate the two?"

"I paid a writer for the Journal a great deal of money to write an article that would sow some discord between them," Angela replied, "but it doesn't seem to have helped."

A bark of uncharacteristically bitter laughter issued from the other end of the line. "My dear Angela, you seem to be losing your touch! A reporter? There are plenty of simpler and more direct ways of dealing with the problem."

"And I suppose you want me to use your usual methods? Organized crime and assassination! Daniel, that was never how we operated." Angela paused for a moment, then sighed regretfully, leaning back in her chair. "So I take it the agent you had stationed to intercept Dianne should she evade you also failed. Bob's daughter, wasn't it?"

"Yes," he said. "Elle was always one of our best. But I'm afraid she really hasn't been the same since that assignment you put her on six months ago. You remember the one?"

Angela did remember. "Sylar," she murmured, temporarily drifting in her memories. Then, very quickly, she came back to herself. "Daniel, I'm expecting you to take care of this problem. This was always your plan. From the very beginning I didn't like this, but I went along with it anyway. You deal with Dianne. You plant the idea in Nathan's head. I'll help you with that, and I will deal with Claire. But you deal with this." She delicately depressed the button on the cradle with one red-tipped finger, terminating the call.

There was silence in the office.

_Dianne and Claire_

_JFK Airport_

It was late when the plane touched down in New York, and the sun had already set, leaving a vibrant stain on the horizon. But for once, the sunset held no comfort for me, no solitude. It just made me peevish and irritable, remembering days when I actually had the time to watch the dying light, back before the world went crazy (again). However, the orange streaks did remind me of the orange convertible Elle had been driving, which brought to mind something that had been bothering me for the last few hours.

"So, I was wondering," I asked, as the seatbelt light flickered off, "how did you find me? You and Niki, I mean. How did you track me down?"

Claire looked at me. "Niki's son. He has an ability; he can talk to machines, I guess. He set up his laptop to play images from traffic cameras. We spotted you crossing the highway, and drove down as fast as we could."

So the kid had a power, huh? Talking to machines, that was a cool one. It did, however, underline the fact that every person involved in this crazy ride had a power except me. And the whole Niki-versus-Jessica thing still had me confused. I'd met a man with multiple personality disorder before, but something about the blonde woman and her unbalanced alter-ego felt different. It wasn't the same thing, not at all. If I had the opportunity, once this whole thing died down a little, I was going to have to dig into that...

"Well, I'm glad you did," I said. "Two seconds later and I'd have been toast. Almost literally."

Claire nodded, pulling the strap of her bag over her shoulder as we stepped off the plane. We waded through the crowded airport, and navigated the long lines at the security checkpoint in silence. But once we stepped out onto the street and I had just started looking around to hail a taxi, a familiar dark-haired woman stepped in front of us.

"Miss Morton," she said with a tight-lipped condescending smile. "How good to see you."

I returned her look with as much confidence as I could muster with a dislocated shoulder and a cross-country flight's worth of jet lag. "Mrs. Petrelli," I said. "It's been too long." What did she want? What was she doing here? Thankfully for my impatient streak, Angela didn't keep me waiting long.

She turned to Claire, smiling. "I think you'd best come with me, Claire," she said.

"What?" Claire and I demanded at the same time.

"Who are you?" Claire asked.

"There's no way I'm letting her go with you!" I exclaimed.

Angela pursed her lips. "Don't be silly," she said. "Claire will enjoy her time in New York much more if she's staying with me. I can protect her."

Yeah right. "I promised I'd keep her safe and I will," I insisted. "And so far I'd say I'm better at protecting kids than you are, Mrs. Petrelli. No offense, but you did a shitty job when you were trying to keep me safe. If I recall correctly, that little incident ended with my parents dead at the hands of your husband and his buddies. So you'll forgive me if I'm a little dubious as to your ability to keep her hidden."

But Angela had me outclassed. "I have no idea what you're talking about," she said primly. "And I must say, I think I know what's best for my own granddaughter."

"Granddaughter?" Claire gasped.

Secretly, I couldn't help but be pleased that my assumption had been correct. Nathan _was_ Claire's father! But before I could comment on it, a dark-skinned man stepped from the shadows to stand just a few feet behind Angela. I was amazed that I hadn't noticed him lurking there before. Normally I was very good at detecting lurkage. But what can I say? I was tired, I was hurt, I was sadly caffeine-deprived. Either way, the appearance of the man made Claire gasp. "You!" she exclaimed.

"I trust you and Rene are acquainted," Angela said, smiling again. "Now please, Claire, come with me."

Claire shot me a conflicted look, her emerald eyes practically begging me to let her go. "Fine," I said with a heavy sigh. "Go on. I know where the house is. I'll drop in tomorrow, make sure you're alright, okay?"

She nodded, her face unreadable. Then Angela folded her into the waiting Rolls Royce, and she was gone. Great. The last bit of proof that my five-day road trip hadn't been a _complete_ waste was gone. But by this point I could have cared less, because the last week had been one giant failure, as far as I was concerned. The last thing that had gone right at all was Peter managing to save Claire.

I hailed a cab and forked over the last little bit of the money I'd had on me when we went to Odessa in order to get home. Some half an hour of heavy traffic later, I hopped out of the taxi in front of my building and dragged myself upstairs. By the time I wedged my key (which, I discovered, had been bent sometime during my tussle with Jessica) into the lock and entered the apartment, all I really wanted to do was sleep for about a week.

Fate, it seems, has a great sense of humor.

"Nathan?" I asked stupidly. "What are you doing here?"

The elder Petrelli brother looked strained. "Leaving," he said curtly, then brushed past me.

I looked at Tanya, who was standing in the middle of the bright yellow kitchen and looking like she wanted to cry. "Tanya, why the hell was he here?" A sudden, horrible thought struck me. "Oh god, Peter's not--?"

She shook her head quickly. "Oh no, it's not that," she said. "He's fine. Well, not fine, but he's not... well, he's really... I'm not really sure how..."

"Spit it out!" I growled.

Tanya ran a hand through her strawberry hair and sat down heavily in a buttercup-tinted chair. "He's sorta missing," she said.

"What!?"

"He just woke up this afternoon, and left the hospital before they even discharged him. He went MIA for a couple of hours, then showed up here, going off about an invisible man and getting out of the city as fast as possible and needing to talk to you. Something had him absolutely scared out of his mind. I left Spens with him to try and keep him occupied while I called Nathan and Mohinder--"

"Mohinder Suresh? The geneticist guy who was such a douche to Peter last week?" I interrupted.

Tanya glared at me. "_Yes_ that Mohinder," she said impatiently. "And he's not a douche. He's a nice guy. Look, I went to call them, and Spens and Peter got to talking, and the idiot let him leave! Nobody's seen or heard from him since!"

I sank down in the chair across from her, feeling utterly drained. "Why the hell would Spens do that?" I murmured, mostly to myself. "He knows what's been going on- or most of it, anyway..."

She shrugged. "I have no idea. The jerk-face wouldn't tell me what Peter said to convince him."

"Yeah, that sounds like Spens: irritating as hell," I said. "When... when did this happen?"

Tanya glanced at the clock on the wall behind her for a moment before turning back to me. "About four hours ago now. God, this is such a mess. If we'd been able to find him a couple of hours ago, it would have been fine. But he could be just about anywhere by now!"

"Tanya," I said tiredly, "Peter can teleport. Well... hypothetically. He could have been literally anywhere a couple of hours ago too."

"Good point."

"I tend to make those. I'm a freaking point-ninja," I muttered.

And just like that, the pieces fell into place. Ninjas... Bruce... vigilantes... The Vigilante... Isaac... I dropped my face into my hands, elbows propped up on the table, and started to laugh bitterly.

"Uh... Dianne? Are you okay?" Tanya asked, smiling uncertainly.

Still chuckling with no real mirth, I looked up at her. "Isaac was right!" I said. "He was right all along! I survived Elle. There was only one outcome..." I dissolved into desperate laughter again.

She stared at me with a combination of concern and irritation on her face until I could breathe again. "There's only one thing that would ever make me go back to that life," I said finally. "I put that whole thing behind me, you see? I didn't want to be just another costumed hero. It wasn't... well, it didn't make sense to me. Save the world, sure, but don't run around in leather and spandex. But this universe runs by different rules. I can't just go flying around rooftops unmasked. Isaac was right. I've got to take it back."

For a moment, Tanya stared at me. "What the hell are you talking about?" she asked. "Did you take some crazy pills with your coffee this morning?"

I shook my head. "I'm getting back in the vigilante business," I said.

She didn't seem to understand. "Well, I have to find him, don't I?" I asked matter-of-factly. "Tanya, you said Peter showed up asking for me. If he was really as panicked as you said he was, that desperate to get out of the city, he wouldn't have even come unless he thought it was really important. It follows that he's gonna stick around until he gets that chance. Or... something. I don't know. I'm tired. But if Peter's still in the city, there'll be someone, somewhere who knows where he is." I fixed her with an intense stare. "If this were Gotham or Metropolis or... hell, even Chicago, even after all this time... I would know where to find the people who would know. I haven't been in New York that long. I don't know the underground because I made a point to stay away, to avoid anything that would tempt me to go back to exactly where I was before. Now I really wish I hadn't, because I need to get familiar, and fast, if I'm gonna find him in time."

"In time for what?"

That was a question I didn't know how to answer. But fragments of things Peter had said snapped to place in my mind. "I have a theory about what's got him so scared," I said vaguely. "But I could be wrong. Look, the important thing right now is to find him. And the only way for me to do that is to go vigilante. You start dealing with the lowest of the low, you find places and people that nobody else would ever know existed. People there tend to know stuff. Chances are good, if I spend enough time, I'll find someone who can tell me something that will lead me to Peter. And in the meantime, wandering around the city at night will give me an opportunity to look for him."

Tanya just looked at me, and I had a sudden sinking feeling in my gut. "Am I totally insane? Have I finally ODed on all the caffeine pills I've been taking for the last week?" I asked.

She shrugged. "No. You're just... kinda grasping at straws a little bit, aren't you? No offense, but that's a little desperate. I mean, hanging around seedy bars in bad parts of town in case somebody happens to know where he is... that's kinda weird."

"It's always worked for me before. Trouble is, this time I have no network. No go-to guy. I gotta find one fast. And if I help take a few muggers or jewel thieves out of commission in the process? Great."

"Okay." That was all she said. She said it a little dubiously, but it was clear that Tanya trusted me. She was trusting me to sort all this out. In a way, it reminded me of Peter, and his blind faith in my insane hunches that often barely made sense to me.

I _really_ hoped that they were right to put so much trust in me.

* * *

You know what? I love writing Angela and Linderman. In both characters, their speech is so naturally affected, it's REALLY easy to keep them in-character. I love it. It's a nice break from writing people like Peter and Tanya, who just talk like everybody.


	45. Wishing Only Wounds The Heart

**A Note From Lara: Yeah, I realize I wrote that stuff about Micah twice. What can I say, last chapter was written over a period of several days. Sorry about that guys. Normally I'm better at that stuff. Maybe I should get a beta... Nah, forget that. The beta process takes WAY too long, and I'm not a patient person. **

**Anyway, this fic is supposed to have several sequels, to rewrite the entire series, but I'm starting to have doubts. I guess it depends on whether I want to devote myself to my other fics (which really need a lot of attention) or start to write sequels that will probably take several years to finish, if the amount of time I've devoted to WTRL is any indication. And it doesn't help that Pemma is taking over my world. It's EXTREMELY hard to write Peter with anyone else, now.**

* * *

As it turned out, I couldn't go out and start my patrols for two days after arriving in New York. I would have been perfectly happy to go as I was, but Tanya insisted that I give my shoulder time to heal before I put any more stress on it. Normally I wouldn't have let anyone or anything get in my way, but she went all super-powers on me and kept me trapped in a bubble for two hours until I relented. In the end, I'm kind of glad she did, because I'm pretty sure I'd have gotten myself killed if I'd gone out hurt, and that was the last thing we needed right now.

Instead, I decided to visit Claire, though a day later than I'd planned to. When I knocked on the door of the Petrelli mansion that morning, I was half-expecting Angela to bar me entry. But it was Heidi who answered the door.

"Dianne," she said warmly, "Come in!"

Completely thrown by her genuine welcome, I stepped over the threshold and into the ostentatious foyer. "Uh, hi Heidi," I said uncomfortably. "It's good to see you. Listen, is Claire here?"

"Claire?" She stared at me in confusion for a moment. Then her face cleared. "Oh, you mean Angela's great-niece?" Well, of course the Petrelli matriarch wouldn't have told Heidi the _truth_ about Claire's origins. Why be honest about something trivial when you lie through your teeth about everything else? "Actually, Angela took her shopping this morning. What with having her house burn down, she doesn't have much at the moment. But you're welcome to wait for her if you like. Stay for awhile- I was just about to have some coffee."

I most definitely didn't want to stay; what I really wanted was to run screaming out of here and just keep on running until I found Peter. But I liked Heidi. It wasn't her fault she'd married into a family (mostly) comprised of psychotic, scheming bastards. "Thanks," I said with as bright a smile as I could manage.

She showed me into the parlor and poured two cups of coffee. I sat down on the edge of one of the cushy armchairs and sipped at the wonderfully caffeinated liquid. "So, Heidi," I said, "is Nathan around? I was hoping to talk to him if I got a chance."

"I'm afraid not," she said. "He went back to Las Vegas- just yesterday, actually. He's meeting with some campaign supporters."

"Linderman," I guessed.

Heidi grimaced at the name. "I can't imagine what he's thinking, bringing that man into our life. He's a criminal!"

"Worse than a criminal," I muttered. "He's a sadistic bastard who should be shot on sight."

"You know him?" she asked, surprised.

I shrugged. "We're distantly acquainted," I said. I was briefly tempted to plunge on and spill out the whole story about my parents to her, but I barely knew Heidi, and that seemed like the kind of thing you didn't tell to near-strangers. "Well, shame about Nathan," I said off-handedly. "I was really hoping to give him a piece of my mind."

She smiled. "You and me both, Dianne," she replied.

A sudden thought occurred to me. "Peter hasn't tried to contact you or Nathan, has he?" I asked.

Heidi's face fell at the mention of Peter. "I'm afraid not," she sighed. "I'm starting to get really worried."

"Join the club," I muttered. "We've got T-shirts. They say "Hey Peter, get your ass back here so I can kick it halfway to next Thursday." I swear, next time I see him, I just might kill him. What's he thinking, running off like this? He should have known I'd be back. He should've known I'd help him sort this whole mess out."

"What mess?" she asked inquisitively.

Now that was a very good question. I wondered whether or not Heidi needed to know what was going on, and came to the conclusion that she did. Her in-laws were up to their necks in it, every last one of them. She had a right to know, damn it! But then again, maybe I wasn't the one to tell her. It wasn't like I could prove any of it, without someone else to show her what they could do. Finally, I decided it was best to plant enough seeds in her head that she would ask the right questions to make Nathan tell her the truth.

"It's not really my place to tell you that," I said, feigning caution. "It's not like I could prove it to you anyway. But Nathan's part of it. So is Claire. You could ask one of them, but it's their secret to tell. But Peter's going through something right now, and I made a promise to help him. And it's not... it's not that he's going crazy, like Nathan said."

Heidi laughed. "Oh believe me, I know," she said. When I gave her a questioning look, she continued, "I've known Peter almost as long as I've known my husband, and I would know if he were depressed. And Peter... well, he's a truly amazing person, but he does have a tendency to--"

"--Be a little melancholy unless somebody's around to snap him out of it?" I finished.

She grinned. "Exactly. Anyway, over the last couple of months, he's been happier than I've ever seen him. And you know, for the longest time, I couldn't figure out what was going on with him. He had this grin on his face every time I saw him that I'd never seen there before, and I just didn't know why. Well, until a couple of weeks ago, that is."

Yeah, I admit, I should have seen what she was getting at sooner. What she was suggesting was so completely outside the realm of possibilities, though, that I hadn't even considered that she would think of it. And so, idiot that I am, I asked, "What happened a couple weeks ago?"

"He brought _you_ to "family brunch" of course," Heidi said as if it were obvious.

Finally, it clicked. "Wait, you think--?" I laughed uncomfortably. "No, it's not... Peter is my best friend. That's all."

She smirked knowingly. "That might be true, but I've known Peter long enough to know that he wishes otherwise," she said.

"You're crazy," I said. "There's no way."

"Oh yes there is," she argued. "Since he met you, he's been happier than I've ever seen him. _Ever_. Dianne, he's had a few girlfriends in the past, some of them serious. But he's never brought _any_ of them to meet the family. You two might not be involved, but it's pathetically obvious that he cares for you tremendously. The way he looked at you... I've never seen him like this."

_Don't hope for it,_ I instructed myself. _Don't let yourself wish for it. You'll only end up smashing your heart into a thousand pieces, girl._ But I couldn't help myself. A small smile curled itself around my mouth. As quickly as I rearranged my features and locked down the hope she had awakened, Heidi was quicker- she totally saw me grinning, and she knew I knew she knew. Or at least, if the knowing twinkle in her eyes was anything to go by, she was aware of what I was thinking.

I cleared my throat. "Um... yeah," I said awkwardly. "But it's not--"

At that moment, the front door burst open and Claire walked in, weighed down with dozens of shopping bags- all of them, I was amazed to see, bearing labels whose price tags had to be in the four-figure range. Leave it to Angela to completely spoil the girl. When she saw me, Claire stopped dead. "Dianne!" she exclaimed.

I rose to my feet, very glad for the interruption that would prevent me from replying to Heidi's comments. "Hey, Claire," I said. "Sorry I couldn't come by yesterday, but my roommate was being a freak and wouldn't let me leave. I guess she was afraid I'd go flying back to Vegas or something." She nodded, looking oddly wary.

"Claire, just leave those in the foyer. Henry will take care of them," Angela said, making a dismissive gesture towards the pile of bags bearing the distinctive double C logo of Coco Chanel.

She smiled at her grandmother- though to my eye it looked a little forced- and did as she was told, abandoning the fruits of her shopping spree in the hall. "Claire, we need to talk," I said. "_In private_." I glared at Angela as I spoke, and she gave me a genteel little smile.

"We can talk in my room," she said, leading me up the grand spiral stairs. As we ascended, I stared around me in wonder. I had been through the house before, but I hadn't been upstairs since Peter's sixth birthday. I was amazed to realize that almost nothing had changed, except for a couple of the photos hanging on the walls in the upstairs hallway.

She tugged me into the small room on the end- Peter's old room. For a few moments I paused, staring around me. There were tiny little reminders of him everywhere- a few photographs on the bedside table, a well-worn wooden baseball bat in the corner, even a threadbare teddy bear sitting on the chest of drawers. But before I had a chance to really look around, Claire slammed the door shut and whirled to face me, perfectly curled blonde hair flying.

"I thought you were coming yesterday!" she exclaimed. "You promised! These people are psycho! The only sane one is my father's wife, and how the hell do I even look her in the eye, knowing who I am, let alone _what_ I am?"

"Just like you do everyone else," I said impatiently.

Claire crossed her arms and stared at me. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

I sighed. Not the conversation I wanted to have right now, not the conversation I wanted to have at all. "There's no shame in being what you are," I said, exhaling sharply. "It sucks in a lot of ways, screws up your life, but there's beauty in it to. Stop whining about it, alright? It's a gift, and you're wasting it!"

"How would you know?" she said through bitter laughter. "It's not like you've ever been through this!"

"And how do you know I haven't?" I demanded.

That shut her up, thankfully. I was in no mood to deal with Claire's self-doubt and sudden spurt of pessimism. Heidi's words had disturbed me deeply, and it was hard enough making conversation without wanting to rip her head off for echoing the same words I had spent months attempting to train out of Clark Kent. I'd dealt with enough "I wanna be normal" to last me a freaking lifetime.

I sighed, and pinched the bridge of my nose. "I have been through this before," I said. "I had a power, ages ago, when I was your age. I loved it, and I lost it, and now I'm just ordinary. I spent the last ten years of my life trying to find a way to keep up with all the special people without my ability. It's hard, being normal in a world of specials. Be glad you don't have to deal with_ that_."

I took a moment to calm myself before my irritation at her childish attitude boiled over. Claire had been through a lot, I reminded myself. Everything she'd thought was sure and stable was shifting under her, and she didn't know how to deal (yet). It was a situation I would thrive in, but Claire wasn't me. She had a different kind of strength. It wasn't my place to judge her (not that it would stop me).

"Alright," I continued once I was sure of myself. "How are you? Angela's not being too evil, is she?"

Claire shrugged. "I don't trust her," she said.

"That makes two of us," I assured her. "I think maybe she means well, but she's going about it all the wrong way."

"Dianne, she's sending me to Paris," Claire said. "Next week, probably. I think... I should go. Nath- my father, has the election, and he doesn't need me screwing that up. And if I go to France, they can keep me safe from the people my father works for. It's the best solution."

Or it was a convenient way to get Claire far, far away from Peter. Hiro Nakamura had told Peter "Save the cheerleader, save the world." There had to be a reason for that. If Claire was here, we could stop this thing, surely. But if she left...

"I'm not sure," I said. "We... I know you don't want any of this, Claire, but please, think very carefully about this before you make any decisions."

"I have thought carefully!" she said forcefully.

"Maybe you think you have," I said, "But just promise me you'll wait until we find Peter before you do anything. Okay?"

Claire gave me a steely look. "Peter can't protect me," she said slowly. "My grandmother can. Going overseas will keep me safe."

I resisted the urge to scream at her that safe didn't have the same definition for her as it did for the rest of us. Instead, I said, "Alright. If that's the way you feel. But remember what I said. We need you, Claire. The world needs you. I don't know what for, and I don't know why, but you're important to this."

And I walked out of the room and out of the house, with a brief passing wave to Heidi, and sprinted down the street, trying to outrun the turmoil in my head and my heart.

* * *

"Dianne!" a voice called.

I looked up, startled, at the woman who had shouted to me. "Simone?" I asked in surprise.

She hurried up to me. "How is he?" she asked urgently. "How is Peter?"

"He... I don't know," I said. "I haven't seen him..."

Simone frowned. "But he's been in the hospital, Isaac said, and--"

"Yes, he was in the hospital in some kind of coma," I said. This was the last thing I needed to deal with right now. "But he woke up and now no one knows where he is."

Her startling green eyes widened in surprise and concern. "Oh no!" she exclaimed. "That's awful! Is there anything I can do?"

Now that was a possibility I hadn't considered before. Tanya had informed me that Isaac had turned up a few days before. "Actually," I said, "There might be something. Can you ask Isaac to... I don't know. Try and paint him, or something? Maybe Isaac could find him."

Simone's beautiful face fell, completely confusing me. Why should that bother her? And then I realized. Simone really did care about Peter. Of course, I had known something was between them that night at Isaac's loft, before we went to Texas. The way they stared at each other, as if there was some secret between them... But I had never imagined that Simone was truly interested in Peter. She and Isaac always seemed so right for each other, somehow...

"I could do that," she said. She raised a hand to brush a strand of hair out of her face. I looked at her hands- perfectly manicured and delicate. I glanced down at my own hands. They were long-fingered and slender, but they were also rough and callused. There were scars from knife fights and burns all over them, and though they once would have been beautiful, now they just looked scarred and twisted up. Just like me.

Peter deserved Simone. He deserved someone undamaged. Not someone like me. I was strong and fearless and talented, but I had issues. Ever since my childhood, I'd been nothing but trouble. I'd spent a lot of time with people who probably were now in prison for grand theft auto or assault or something. Simone came from Peter's world- she was cultured, she was beautiful, and she didn't have a problem admitting how she felt. She was loyal, and she was caring. She'd be perfect for him.

I could feel my heart crack a little, but forced a smile onto my face.

"Thank you, Simone," I said. "Everything we can do to find him..."

She smiled. "Exactly."

I nodded. "I'll keep you updated. Hopefully we'll find him soon." And of course we would, I assured myself as I walked away. This was something I could do for Peter, even if I'd never be the one for him. I could find him and protect him and make sure that whatever happened with Simone, he had the chance to find out. I'd keep New York safe, even though this fight was probably too big for a mere human like me. I'd find a way to do it.

_Sure, yeah, whatever you say,_ a little voice at the back of my head said. _This one's on Claire, not you._ Fine then. I'd find a way to keep her in the city so that_ she_ could stop the bomb. _Whoever_ the exploding man turned out to be.

At that moment, my phone rang. "Hello?" I said sharply. If one more thing happened today, I might just snap...

"Uh, Dianne?" It was Tanya. "I just got a... weird phone call."

"Funny," I muttered irritably. "I'm getting one right now."

"Nice. Listen, some desk jockey at the NYPD called about ten minutes ago. They tried to contact Nathan or Angela, but neither of them was answering, apparently, because they dialed Peter's apartment. I was up there with Spens, trying to find some clue as to where he could've gone, like you told us. Anyway, I picked up the phone. Turns out Peter got arrested this morning."

"_What_?!" I demanded.

"I know," she said. "It's so bizarre. The woman dropped the charges, but apparently he tried to take snatch her purse."

"Yeah, you're right. That is bizarre. Why would he do that?" I wondered aloud.

Tanya sighed. "I have no idea."

"Alright, so where is he?" I demanded. "Where are they keeping him."

She hesitated. "Uh, he's... well, he's actually gone already. Some British guy came and picked him up at the Midtown North Precinct. Nobody's heard from him since, but they were obligated to notify relatives that he'd been taken in or something, so they called, and--"

"And you picked up," I finished. "Yeah, okay. Tanya, how do I get to the precinct? Do you know the address off the top of your head?"

"No, but that's what Google is for," she replied. I could hear the sound of her fingers clicking across keys and felt a flicker of pride. Tanya was the closest thing to a friend I had in this city, except for Peter, and the fact that she was thinking so clearly about this was encouraging. Maybe she had a future in the vigilante business after all. Finally, she said, "Okay. Midtown North Precinct. You're gonna need to head to 54th Street. 306 West. Got that?"

I grinned. "Yep. Thank you, Tanya. We might just be able to find him after all."

"Was there ever any doubt?"

Well, yes, there really was. I wasn't even close to as confident in my own abilities as I pretended to be. But they didn't need to know that. "Of course not," I said, feigning cockiness, and hung up the phone.

* * *

Peter glared at the smirking Englishman. "Thanks for almost getting me arrested," he muttered.

"By my reckoning, you did get arrested," Claude said, still laughing at him. "A little more focus, though, and you'd've had some cash and fresh lipstick. I never said it'd be easy- in fact, I think I said repeatedly you'd be crap."

"You've been doing this for fifteen years!" Peter exclaimed. "Cut me a little slack on trying to do it for five minutes!"

"You'll learn," the invisible man said, sounding surprisingly patient. "We've just got to find what's been holding you back."

"The cops have my name an address. I'm pretty sure Nathan's gonna kill me first anyway," he said, glancing around them. He was still getting used to the idea that the crowds all around him couldn't see him at all. It was mind-boggling, really.

Claude watched him closely, eyes narrowed as if he were having an epiphany. "You worry a lot about your people," he said. "Your friends, your mother, your brother. Well no wonder your head's all clogged: you're still sunk under!"

"Under what?"

"Your attachments! All these people who feed you biscuits, pat your head and tell you you're not fit for the outdoors!" Claude said cuttingly. "You still see yourself through their eyes, is that it?"

Peter shook his head. "No, I don't," he insisted.

The invisible man looked dubious. "Right. Well I'll bet you twenty bucks your dad didn't make much of you either." Peter didn't respond, choosing to stalk away down the crowded street instead. "God, you're easy!" Claude called after him before hurrying to catch up. "We've got to get these people out of your head!"

He whirled to face the older man. "Don't you understand? These people are my family! I can't just cut 'em out!"

"Peter can't use his powers without someone holding his hand," Claude mocked. He glanced over his shoulder at a wall plastered with Nathan's campaign posters. "How can you not punch that face every time you see it?"

"He's not like that," Peter said firmly.

"He is," Claude denied.

"You don't know him!"

The Englishman smirked. "I don't need to. I spend a lot of time moving around people's homes, their bedrooms. You get to know people if you see 'em when they think they're alone. You see them for what they truly are: selfish, deceitful, and gassy."

Peter gave him a superior look- this man who'd hidden himself away in the most crowded city in the country had no idea what people were really like, no matter _what_ he'd seen. There was something good in everybody; Claude was just too blind and jaded to see that. "So what's that, your big truth about the world?" he asked sarcastically.

"Sooner you learn it, the sooner we get that collar off your neck," Claude said, jabbing a finger at him. "People suck, friend, every last one of 'em. Never forget that."

Peter shook his head. "Not all of them," he said quietly.

"Oh, right, there's a girl," Claude said, a mocking grin planted firmly on his face.

His immediate dismissal infuriated Peter. What gave him the right to judge Dianne? He'd never even met her. Peter had no illusions. He knew Dianne was rough around the edges. But he loved her, scars and rough edges and all, and he wasn't going to let this prejudiced idiot insult her. "She's not like the rest of them," Peter said.

"Everyone's like the rest; that's why they're the rest!" Claude said, still wearing that jaded, dismissive smile. Peter just stared at him, his eyes not giving an inch. The invisible man sighed. "Fine. Let's go see what your girl's up to right now, then maybe we can clear your head." He turned to walk back the way they'd come, heading towards Peter's apartment.

He hurried to catch up. "Wait, wait, you want to... spy on her?" he demanded, grabbing Claude by the elbow to halt him in his tracks. "Look, you can follow her all you want, I'm telling you: she's not like that."

"Well then," Claude said smugly, "there's no harm in taking a look."

Peter couldn't argue with that. But last he'd known, Dianne was out of town. Tanya had said she'd gone to Vegas... apparently because of something he'd said. And he did vaguely recall saying something about Las Vegas before he passed out last week in Odessa. "I don't think she's here right now," he said. "They told me she was out of town."

The British expatriate raised an eyebrow. "A girl who skips town while her boyfriend's dying in the hospital," he said skeptically.

"I... she was trying to find a way to help me," Peter insisted.

"Whatever you say," Claude said, looking even more dubious than before. "Still doesn't hurt to go to her apartment and look for her, does it? Not like we can do anything else until she comes back, since you're clearly not gonna admit you're wrong about her until she proves it to you."

And once again, the man had made a point too good- if misguided- to argue with. Peter had no choice but to agree.

* * *

**Alright, so I need your feedback- both on this chapter and on the Dianne Saga in general. I can either end this story with the end of the volume, which is a suitable place to close it anyway, or I can try and struggle through the rest of the volumes in several more extremely lengthy fics that probably will suck. Mainly due to the fact that it's almost impossible for me to write Peter with anyone but Emma or Daphne anymore. (Or very rarely Claire, but even that's kinda difficult). So. Yeah. Feedback is great.**


	46. I Have An Invisible Stalker

**A Note From Lara: GUESS WHAT!!!!! Today, December 7th, is the first anniversary of WTRL. Seriously, it does NOT feel like I've been living with Dianne and Peter for a whole year. But I have. And thank you all SO much for making them the smash hit I admit I NEVER expected them to be. This story has more reviews than pretty much all my other multichapter stories combined. Thank you all for your amazing support.**

**Alright, so the verdict on the sequels is as follows: I'm gonna wrap up WTRL, and I promise it will leave you with a nice, warm, happy feeling when I'm done. Then, I'm going to take some time away from the Dianne Saga to get my other rampant works in progress under control. Once I've got it down to working on AT MOST two stories at a time, I'll pick back up with Volume 3 of the Dianne Saga (Volume 1 being the one that wasn't in the Heroes fandom at all).**

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* * *

**

They were heading back the way they'd come, slipping invisibly through the crowd, when Peter stopped dead. There, across the street, staring right at him, was Dianne. He stared back at her, amazed, and then she blinked and looked away. Clearly it had just been a fluke- she hadn't actually seen him. But she was here, in the city, just feet from him... It was everything Peter could do to stop himself from sprinting across the street to her.

It seemed unnecessary, however, as Dianne was crossing the street herself, dodging between the bumper-to-bumper traffic. For a moment, he thought maybe she had seen him after all. But as she mounted the sidewalk once again, she hurried past him and into the police precinct which, Peter now realized, was directly behind him.

"So, that's her?" Claude asked, coming up behind him and making Peter jump in surprise. He nodded. Claude watched intently as she disappeared through the doors of the precinct. "Can't say much about your taste," he said mildly. "She's pretty enough, I guess, if you like that sort. Skinny little thing, though. Me, I like a woman with _curves_. Suppose it would make her a decent hand fighter though, if she had some training up."

Peter chuckled. "Believe me, she does," he assured the other man.

Claude raised an eyebrow dubiously. "I'll believe it when I see it," he said. "These women nowadays, they take a Tae Kwon Doh class at the YMCA and think they're expert fighters. It takes a lot more than that- it takes time, and dedication, and that's something people just don't have anymore."

"Think what you want," Peter said, his brief good mood disappearing quickly under the man's cynicism. "Look, you wanted to follow her, so let's get on with it." He hurried up the steps of the precinct and was just about to pull the door open when Claude slammed his hand against the door, forcing it to remain shut.

"Rookie mistake, mate," he said. "You're invisible. You really want to just open that door? People are gonna be very interested in how that happened. You want to avoid detection, you better remember- people _can't see you_. You can't just go around opening doors and whatnot. Be smarter than that."

"Fine, so... what? We just sit around here, invisibly, until somebody else walks through the door?" Peter said, once again irritated.

Claude shrugged. "You want to play this game, you gotta play by the rules, kid."

Luck was with them, however, because in only a few minutes, a harried-looking brunette woman shoved the door open from the inside and hurried away. Peter slipped through the gap before the door closed, and Claude followed close behind, stopping the door only long enough to dodge through. To anyone watching, it would have looked like the door was momentarily caught on a rough patch on the flagstone steps.

The precinct's main office was fairly small, and they easily spotted Dianne, arguing (predictably) with a tired-looking officer seated behind the bulletproof glass. "I don't see what the problem is!" she demanded. "You released him to someone who's not his family. Can't you give out at least some details to someone not his family? Peter Petrelli is my best friend, and I'm telling you, he's in some kind of trouble and I need to find him. Now."

"I'm sorry, Miss," the man said, rubbing a hand across his eyes. "I just can't help you."

Dianne gave him an impatient smile that really turned into more of a grimace. "Thank you for your time," she said between tightly clenched teeth. She spun on her heel and marched out of the precint. As she stalked past the invisible duo, Peter heard her mutter, "Now I remember why you _never _work with the law." He had to work very hard to keep from laughing out loud.

They followed her out of the precinct, hurrying out the door behind her. This time, however, Peter was the last one out, and his skill at stopping the door didn't come close to rivalling Claude's. As the door halted in it's swing, Dianne paused, staring at the "empty" air, and once again, her eyes unwittingly met Peter's. For the briefest of moment's he was frozen by her gaze; then he recovered himself and released the door, allowing it to swing shut. Dianne shook her head, sighed, and turned away from the door to make her way purposefully down the street.

As she walked, she pulled her phone from her pocket and made a call. "Yeah, Tanya?" she said after a few moments of waiting for the answer. "Apparently they can't give me any information because I'm not immediate family. Yeah, I know. Believe me, I'm ticked. Can you--? No, not that. Listen, call Suresh again, find out when he's going to be back in the city. If anybody can help Peter, it's gotta be him. Thanks, Tanya. What do you mean? Oh, I thought I'd stop by Isaac's. Yeah, I did ask Simone to talk to him, but I am not a patient woman, okay? Yeah, alright. I'll see you later."

She hung up, slipped the phone back into her pocket, and hurried away down the street.

They lost her briefly on the subway. Successfully navigating the turnstiles was more time-consuming than Peter had expected, and by the time they got through to the platform, she was out of sight. However, with her destination in mind, Peter was able to determine the next train that would put them in the Lower East Side.

"I don't care for her," Claude said abruptly as they waited.

"What?" Peter asked, surprised.

"I don't care for her," he restated patiently. "She's determined, I'll give her that, but she strikes me as impetuous. No method. Too much fire and not enough focus."

The empath glared at his mentor. "Now you listen to me--!" he began, but the other man held up a hand to silence him.

"No, I'm not saying she hasn't got some merit, but you wait and see. Sooner or later, she'll prove her true colors, and then we can get back to what's really important."

Peter shook his head, chosing not to reply for fear of saying something he didn't really mean in anger. At that moment, the train pulled up and as the passengers disembarked, Peter and Claude slipped invisibly through the crowd and into the car.

--

I banged on the door to Isaac's studio. "Isaac! Open up!" I yelled.

After a few moments, the door was wrenched open from within, and the painter stared out at me. His eyes were remarkably steady, and he looked... well, he looked clean, both literally and in the sense that he might actually have overcome his heroin addiction. I was secretly kind of proud of him. I'd known some rough people, and I knew how hard it was to get off heroin. The only things tougher were crystal meth and cigarettes.

"Dianne?" he asked in surprise. "What are you doing here? When Simone said that you wanted me to find Peter, I thought you'd be at least a few days before--"

I shrugged, stepping across the threshold. "Yeah, well, if it were anybody but Peter, I probably _would_ have waited a few days."

Isaac smiled, but there was concern in his eyes. "I know," he said. "Peter is... important to you."

Panic swept through me. "How much do you know?" I demanded in a low voice.

The painter raised his hands in a show of innocence. "Only what I've painted. But that's enough to put together the pieces. Don't worry- my lips are sealed."

I crossed my arms and looked at him in complete consternation. "Well what do you know?" I said. "You're actually kind of a decent guy when you're not high." He frowned, and I suspected I had probably said the wrong thing. "Sorry," I said, not really meaning it. "But the last time we had a conversation you were--"

"A jerk," he finished. "I know. I wish I could say it was all the drugs, but..." He shrugged. "I'm afraid I don't have anything for you yet."

"What's the holdup?" I demanded. "I asked Simone to talk to you _hours_ ago!"

Isaac smiled knowingly. "Well, really only an hour, and I haven't had a lot of time to get to work. While Simone was here, Hiro Nakamura and his friend showed up."

"What?!" I demanded. "They were here? Why didn't somebody tell me they were in New York?"

The painter shrugged. "We were a bit occupied. And that Congressman guy was here, too. Peter's brother."

"What the hell was Nathan doing here?" I demanded. "He's supposed to be in Vegas!"

"And he will be," Isaac assured me. "Tomorrow, when he needs to be. I've painted some interested things about that--"

"I don't care what blonde Nathan's gonna hook up with this time!" I explained, my patience starting to run out. "Please, do you know _anything_ about Peter?"

Isaac sighed. "Not much, but it's not for lack of trying, believe me. I've been painting like crazy trying to find him even without your request. But every time I try to paint where Peter is- or rather, where he will be- it turns up empty. No one in the painting." He smiled self-effacingly. "Guess I'm not very good at doing this clean, yet."

"Can I see the paintings anyway?" I asked.

"Sure. I've only got a few, but if you can make anything of it, you'll make more progress than I have," he replied.

As he tried to swing shut the still-open door, it seemed to jam against something for a brief moment, then continued its normal path. Both Isaac and I stared at it, and I was reminded of the strange moment when the door at the police precinct had gotten stuck. There was something in that, but my mind had been whirling all morning since my conversation with Heidi and I just couldn't focus enough to figure out what...

"Okay, so where are these paintings?"

Isaac led me across the apartment to where three canvases hastily splashed with vibrantly toned brush-strokes were drying against the wall. "It's not much," he said. He pointed at the first of the paintings. "That was the first one. I painted it about forty-five minutes ago."

I stared at it. "That's the Midtown North Precinct building," I said slowly.

"So?" he asked.

"So I was there not half an hour ago," I said. "See? That's me, there." I pointed at the woman that was half-on the canvas. You could only see part of her back and her face in profile as she peered curiously back over her shoulder as she walked out of view. "And that..." I gestured at the door on the precinct building, which was standing partway open. "That happened."

"I do paint the future, you know," he said crossly. "And doors open. What's your point?"

Biting my lip, I continued to study the canvas. Then I groaned in frustration. "I don't know!" I exclaimed. "God, I have no idea! And the worst of it is, I _know_ that whatever it is I'm missing, it's something completely obvious, but I just can't put my finger on it."

"That's what two- or is it three?- days of almost no sleep will get you," Isaac chided. "You really ought to take better care of yourself, Dianne. You're going to need all the strength you can muster over the next two weeks."

"Why?" I asked suspiciously. "What do you know?"

He shrugged. "A lot. It's going to get worse."

"What else is new?" I said. "So what's up with the other paintings?"

Isaac shrugged. "This second one is a subway entrance, I think. Just looks like people on an escalator to me, but none of them is Peter. And the last I don't know much about."

"I do, though. That's the roof of my building. And that person over by the edge... is that me again?" I pointed at the tiny figure visible against a crimson sunset.

"Looks like it," he said. "It felt like you when I was painting it."

Desperately though I wanted to ask him more about his ability and what he meant by "it felt like you," I suppressed my curiosity and instead asked, "So what else is the future telling you, Isaac?"

"Plenty of things. But none of it looks particularly good. Dianne, maybe you should think about getting out of the city. Because... well, no matter what I do, no matter how things change, the outcome is always the same."

"The bomb," I said.

Isaac nodded. "Yes. And I should probably tell you, you really need to stay away from Peter. I know you won't listen to me: that's not the kind of person you are. But he's the one that causes all of this--" He swept his hand about him to indicate the ominous mural on the floor. "--And if you stick with him through this, you're going to end up dead. You're going to die in the future, Dianne."

"Duh."

"That's not what I mean," he said, frustrated. "It's... you're going to die in this bomb blast if you don't get far, far away."

I shrugged. "I always figured I was going to die young, anyway," I said. "I have a tendency to get into the worst kind of messes, and it's only a matter of time before I get myself into one I can't get back out of. And Peter needs a best friend more than anything right now, and I swear to god I'd rather die than leave him on his own right now. Thanks for your help, Isaac. Please... keep trying. Let me know if you find _anything_, okay?"

He nodded, and I hurried back up the steps and out the door, pausing just once to glance at the painter standing alone in the middle of the floor, staring at a canvas intently, chewing his lip and apparently contemplating painting again. Then I walked out the door, trying to puzzle out the mystery of Isaac's latest paintings.

--

Hiro hopped happily into the passenger door of the Versa, clutching the ripped and rolled-up painting Mr. Isaac had given him.

"Your sister is hot," Ando said after he'd fastened his seatbelt.

"You've already said that," Hiro said. "It's nothing new. You've known her your whole life."

His best friend shrugged. "But I haven't seen her for almost a year. She got a new haircut."

Hiro rolled his eyes. "Up, up, and away, my friend," he said. "It is time to fulfill our destiny. To Las Vegas!"

--

A voice echoed in Matt Parkman's head as he sat in the cell at Primatech. _Parkman, can you hear me? Bang on the pipe if you can hear me._ It was Bennet. After the slightest hesitation, he hit the pipe with the metal tray they had served his meager meal on._ Good. Listen carefully- they're going to kill us all; the only reason they haven't already is they're waiting on orders. But I have a plan. Hit the pipe again if you can trust me._

"I hate him," Matt muttered under his breath, but banged on the pipe.

_Good man. Now, the second pipe from the window is rusty in your cell. A few hits should knock it free._ Matt got to work banging hard on the pipe.

_Now, all that banging will have alerted the guards. You should have the pipe free by now._

_"What?" Matt demanded of the unanswering silence around him._

_Don't worry, it's a good thing. Once you've got knocked out the guard, bang again to let me know._

In desperation, Matt pulled desperately on the pipe, and at the last possible moment it came free. He whirled to the door and brought the pipe smashing down on the unsuspecting man's head...

--

The evening wind off the river was cool as it blew across the rooftop, and Peter shivered. "What the hell are we doing up here, anyway?" he asked. "Dianne's inside. Kind of defeats the purpose of following her, doesn't it?"

Claude raised his eyebrows. "Your girl's taking a shower, mate. Now, you might be interested in watching that, but as for me..." He shrugged.

Peter glared at him. "So why are we up here instead of in the hallway?"

"You really are dense, you know that? That painter bloke showed her a painting of herself on this roof at sunset. You really think she's not gonna follow through?"

"Good point." After a windswept silence of several minutes, Peter said, "You know, I'm not even sure why we're doing this. Dianne isn't like the rest, okay? Just give it up."

Claude sighed in irritation. "That's exactly why!" he exclaimed. "You've got this rosy film over your eyes like a kid. Honestly, it's no wonder you live like an adolescent: posters on the wall, hair in your face... You've got to learn that people are crap, and not everyone has some good in them. People might fool you for awhile, but eventually you learn that everybody's flawed."

And it was the final straw. "You think I don't know that?" he demanded. "Look, I know Dianne's not perfect. She flies off the handle over little stuff and she says stupid things without thinking and always ends up regretting it and she's judgmental and rash and too damn stubborn for her own good. I see all that, okay? I get it. I don't have this ideal of her in my head. I love her in spite of all that, and I'm sick and tired of you trying to prove otherwise. So just get off my back!"

The invisible man opened his mouth to respond, but at that moment, the door to the roof flew open and Dianne came storming out. She marched across the roof, clearly in a fury, and leaned against the ledge, staring out across the city with a frustrated look on her face. For a long time, she stood there in silence, the wind teasing her damp hair into a messy dark cloud. As the scarlet sunset darkened to crimson and amber, she sighed, the anger leaving her face and the tension draining out of her body to be replaced with something like hopelessness. It was a look that Peter had never seen around her before, and it worried him deeply. He didn't understand what could possibly have made her look like that.

She straightened up, staring out across the roof. "This is stupid," she said aloud. "I don't know why I'm here. But there's something about what Isaac painted. He was trying to paint you, Peter, but all he could find was me up on this roof. I don't know why, but there has to be a reason for that, so here I am. And I guess I'm just hoping that he was right after all. I don't know, I've seen some really weird stuff. Maybe you found someone invisible?"

Next to him, Claude twitched in surprise.

But Dianne continued and Peter was unable to register anything but her blue eyes casting around the roof, clearly looking for him. "Peter... please. If you're here, please let me know. I can't do this thing without you. I hate to admit that, more than you know, but it's true. I don't know how to dismantle an atomic bomb, and even if I could, I guess we're dealing with a nuclear man anyway so it doesn't matter. So just... come home. We're all worried about you. I think I know why you're running, and if I'm right... well, we'll still find a way to deal with that. I'm not gonna let this thing happen, I promise you that. But I can't do it alone. You've got to help me."

Everything in him was screaming at him to just do it. Go to her, reveal himself. But Claude somehow had his arm in an iron grasp, and his hand clamped over his mouth so tightly he couldn't make a sound.

Dianne sighed. "Right. And now I'm officially insane," she said. "Nobody's here. Good one, Dianne. Just great. Pour out your heart to some pigeons, why don't you?"

She headed back inside, and the two invisible people were alone on the roof. Peter threw away Claude's restraining hands in near-fury. "Why did you stop me?" he demanded. "Dianne could have helped. She already taught me how to fly... sort of."

"It's bad enough having you follow me around like a lost puppy," Claude said dryly. "I don't do families."

Peter glared at him.

"Well, it's true. She's a distraction, alright? She's got potential, I'll give you that much. She's an even bigger idiot than you are, and I thought that was impossible. But she's at least got her head screwed on forwards, at least. Still, she's a distraction."

"Cut it out!" Peter said. "Just... stop, okay? I'm sick of you telling me what I have to do! I just want to figure out how to control this so I don't kill everyone in this city, that's all. So just... help me, okay? I don't need your life counseling."

"No," Claude said smugly. "But you do need this." He shoved Peter in the chest, sending him tumbling toward the street below.

As he fell down five... ten... fifteen stories, absolute terror shot through his chest. He was never going to see Dianne again. This wasn't his first fatal fall, but this time, there was no invincible cheerleader there to revive him... Peter landed hard on a taxi parked in the alley below, and darkness enveloped him.

When he opened his eyes, there was a shaft of metal through his chest. Stunned, he pulled himself off the broken piece and slid clumsily off the destroyed automobile, spitting out blood. He glanced up twenty stories at the invisible man watching him from above, his broad grin clearly visible even from this distance. "Son of a bitch," Peter muttered.

And at that moment, even as rage was boiling in his veins, Peter had an epiphany. Dianne had said something similar, ages ago, but she hadn't been quite right. No, it wasn't the presence of the power's bearer that was required. It was his memories of them, how they'd made him feel. Almost ironic, really. It took the literal definition of "empathy" about six steps farther. As Claude came strolling up to him in an irritatingly nonchalant way, Peter's anger was already forgotten. He eagerly rifled through the catalogue of powers he was sure must be in him somewhere. Healing, telepathy, invisibility, precognition, time-travel... well, maybe he'd leave that one for later... telekinesis, terrakinesis, force fields, flight...

His feet rose off the ground and the thoughts of the occupants of the nearest rooms echoed in his head. The broken pieces of glass from the taxi rose into the air with him, and a flash of the terrible moment of detonation sent his mind reeling. "Oh god, it's happening," he gasped. "Oh god..."

A fist connected hard with his nose, and Peter fell to the ground, nearly unconscious.

* * *

Next Time:

Peter comes home, from Dianne's perspective  
Peter comes home, from Peter's perspective

Yeah, I couldn't pick a POV, so I just decided to write both. It's not a terribly long couple of scenes, but they'll be full of delicious PetAnne on both sides.


	47. We're Back Together Again

**A Note From Lara: It took me awhile to get around to this. I'm sorry. It's been four months. I'm trying to get this finished, write a novel, apply to college, read a list of fifty books before July (and it includes Les Miserables AND War and Peace, so you KNOW it's not gonna happen), and update other fics all around those little things we call "sleep" and "eating" and "classes." I know, I know, I had two weeks on holiday so I should have updated more. What can I say? Back episodes of Doctor Who distracted me.**

**And speaking of Doctor Who, I'm surprised that none of you picked up on the reference last chapter! Though it was kind of subtle, so... yeah.**

* * *

_One week later..._

"Dianne, you're not going out _again_?" Tanya demanded.

I sighed. "Yes, I am. And I've got to go, it's almost midnight. I'm supposed to meet this guy down in the warehouse district; he might have some information on where Peter is." I prepared to step up to the window, where I would fling a launch line out to hook onto the opposing building and send me sailing off into the semi-darkness of the New York City night. Tanya, however, had other plans as she stepped in front of me.

"Oh no you don't!" she exclaimed. "I am absolutely not letting you out of this apartment tonight. You haven't slept in three days, and I can barely get you to eat before you go running off again. You're going to sleep right now, and in the morning you are going to eat the eggs I make and not complain about how much time you're wasting."

Part of me wanted to just body-block her out of my way, powers be damned. But apparently a tiny part of me still had some spark of self-preservation, and even without that, the lack of sleep was singing through my muscles, making me sore and drowsy and out-of-sorts. I knew if I stayed in the room much longer I was going to pick a fight, and that wasn't going to help anything. So instead of responding to her demands, I deflected the conversation.

"So, is Mohinder back in town yet?"

Tanya's pretty face turned a little pink. "Yeah. He and Zane got back a few hours ago. You were here when I took the call."

"Oh."

"You see what I mean? Sure, you were digging around for information on my laptop, but ordinarily that wouldn't stop you from hearing what was going on around you. You barely have enough attention to focus on one thing, let alone several. If you go out again without sleep, you're gonna get yourself hurt, because I know you're not going into the safe parts of town!""

I threw my hands up in resignation. "Fine, alright, whatever, I'll take a nap, okay? That make you happy? But I'm getting up in time to get to the Happy Clam before all the seedy people leave."

* * *

Two a.m. My alarm clock blared loudly and I jerked upright, startled out of a dead sleep. On instinct more than conscious thought, I slammed my hand down on the snooze button. Once my reason had caught up with my reflex, I knew it was because I couldn't take a chance on waking Tanya. She'd kill me if she knew I was planning on sneaking out in the middle of the night to go meet one of my contacts. Of course, I had told her so, but she'd only agreed to that because she thought I would pass out once my head hit the pillow and not wake up until the middle of the afternoon tomorrow. She would have been right if I hadn't set my alarm.

In the silence that followed the screeching of my alarm, my ears were hypersensitive to any noise, listening closely to see if Tanya had been disturbed by the short blast of high-pitched beeping. Not a sound issued from the other room, but raised voices echoed through the ceiling from the floor above. One voice in particular sounded vaguely familiar. But... it couldn't be, could it?

Suddenly desperate to find out, I leapt out of bed and ran from the apartment, pausing only to lock the door behind me.

"--Knew they were after you, and you lead them right to me!" cried a man who sounded like he was trying very hard not to yell but wasn't quite managing it.

And as I approached the apartment door, I heard the voice I had been waiting on. "Hey, I saved your ass back there! Would a thank you be so out of line?"

"Forget it, mate, I'm out!"

"But--!"

The door in front of me opened and I felt something- no, some_one_- brush past me. I reached out wildly, trying to grab at him, but to no avail. Hesitantly, I entered the apartment through the still-open door. I wandered through the kitchen and into the living room. And there he was, leaning against the window and framed by the light from outside.

"Peter?" I breathed, almost afraid to speak his name in case this was another torturous dream.

He turned around, and although I couldn't see his face clearly in the shadows, it was enough of a confirmation that this was real for me. I glared at him. "You _idiot_!" I exclaimed. "What the hell were you thinking, running off like that? You had us all scared out of our minds!"

For a few seconds we stared at each other, and I tried to bore holes through him with my eyes. Then the relief of seeing him, alive and apparently in one piece, became too great, and I hurled myself across the apartment and threw my arms around him, burying my face in his shoulder and trying to convince myself that he was really here, safe. Home. Yes, I realized, this was home, both for him and for me. It was odd, thinking of it in those terms, because having a real, permanent home was something that I wasn't familiar with. I hadn't been here very long, but it felt more like home to be living in this crappy apartment building with Peter always just upstairs than anywhere I'd drifted through since my parents had died. And now that he was back, despite the problems I knew we'd have to deal with in the near future, everything was that much better.

Peter hugged me tightly. "Dianne," he said quietly. Just my name, but it was enough to make me feel _right_ again.

I'm not sure how long we stood there like that, but eventually I stepped back, releasing him as quickly as I'd embraced him before. "Where have you been?" I demanded. "Did you find some invisible guy to hang out with?"

"I-- how did you--?" he stuttered, and I grinned.

"Your buddy walked into me when he was leaving the apartment just now."

"Oh."

"So, that still doesn't explain where you've been," I said.

Peter sighed, dropping tiredly down to sit at the foot of his bed. I sat down next to him, not wanting him to get too far away in case he disappeared again. "I... Dianne, I have to tell you something. I mean, you've been to see Isaac, so you've probably figured it out already, but--"

"It's the bomb, isn't it?" I asked. "Isaac thinks it's you."

He nodded. "I think he's right. I dreamed about it. Suresh and Officer Parkman and Claire and Nathan and Niki and her family and everyone was there, and it..." His eyes looked haunted and I laid a hand on his shoulder, reassuring him, trying to tell him with just a touch that he didn't have to say more if he didn't want to. I could guess. "I was getting help. My--" He smiled slightly at this. "--invisible guy was teaching me how to control my powers. But he's gone now, and I don't think he's coming back." The brief levity in his expression disappeared again.

"Peter," I said quietly, "You know we're not gonna let it happen."

"How do you know?"

I had never heard him sound more defeated, more hopeless. It broke my heart to see him like this. "Because we just won't. We saved the cheerleader, right? Well you know what? Claire's in New York. Right now." Yeah, and getting ready to be shipped off to Paris as we spoke.

He looked up, and there was a slight spark of interest in his eyes. Encouraging. "Really?" he asked.

"Really. She's staying with your mother." Now he just looked confused, and I realized why. He had no clue about his relationship to the enigmatic cheerleader. "Uh, yeah, about that, I should probably mention that she's your niece."

It would not have surprised me if, at that moment, Peter's eyeballs fell out of his sockets. "What?" he asked dumbly.

I couldn't help but laugh at his expression. "Yeah. If the files I stole from Primatech are any indication, apparently Nathan had some fling with a fire-starting hippie seventeen years ago, and hey, presto! Indestructible, world-saving cheerleader is born!"

"You stole files from Primatech?"

"Jeez, yes, keep up!" I said, but I smiled to tell him that the irritation in my words was teasing. "After you collapsed, I went to see Claire and it turns out that her father actually works for Primatech, and I convinced him to take me to their top-secret underground bunker facility thing. Kicked Sylar's ass for you, by the way. That was cathartic, to say the least. And then I nicked a bunch of files- yours included- and high-tailed it out of there. I'm pretty sure they're still looking for me."

Peter stared at me. "You fought Sylar?" he asked.

I shrugged. "He didn't have his powers at the time. Some freaky Haitian guy was doing a real number on him."

"Okay..." he said slowly, clearly confused. It was okay. I was too. This whole thing had gotten unbelievably weird. I didn't mind, it was nice to get back to some semblance of insanity, but I couldn't help but think how confused Peter and the rest of them must be by this.

"So, you've got a handle on your powers, then?"

He nodded, and a look of pride came across his face. "Yeah. I'll show you sometime."

"I look forward to that," I said. "But tomorrow- well, today, actually, if we're getting technical- we have to go see Claire. She'll be glad you're back. I think your mom is freaking her out a little." Not that it was going to stop her from waltzing off to Paris with the indomitable Angela...

"Wonderful."

We continued talking. I hardly paid attention. It was too good to have Peter back to waste time actually thinking about what was being said. I don't know how long we sat there. It might have been hours, with him sitting at the foot of the bed and me perched cross-legged in my pajamas next to him. But it seemed like only minutes had passed when my jaw cracked in a huge yawn. "God, I'm sorry," I said. "And if I'm tired, you must be exhausted."

"Being on the run will do that to you," he said, flopping backwards on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

I imitated his position. "You're telling me!" I exclaimed drowsily.

For a few minutes, neither of us spoke, and although I knew I was on the verge of falling asleep, I was too tired to want to go through the effort of getting up and going downstairs. Just before my eyes closed, while I could still see Peter's profile next to me, I mumbled his name. He turned his head to look at me and made a sound that might have been a response. "I'm really glad you're back, Peter," I whispered.

The last thing I saw before I fell asleep was his dark brown eyes staring into mine.

* * *

He heard the sound of the taser firing and had a split second to react. Claude hit the ground, a pair of darts stuck firmly in his neck, but Peter whirled, focused, and the darts that had been heading straight for him paused in their flight, inches from his face, and dropped to the ground. He ducked down and picked up Claude, dumping him unceremoniously over the edge of the building.

The man with the horn-rimmed glasses (he looked vaguely familiar, where had Peter seen him before?) yelled, "What are you doing?"

Thinking of Claude's words that afternoon, he replied, "Something unexpected," before diving off the roof himself. Seconds later, he had caught up to Claude, scooped the older man up and flung him over his shoulder. He caught a glimpse of his assailants faces as he hurtled skyward past them, and couldn't help but smile at the shock he saw there.

Despite the inadvisability of the thought, the only place he could safely consider going was back to his apartment...

* * *

As Claude's eyes opened blearily, Peter leaned over him, concerned. His friend (friend might be a strong word, but it was the closest thing he had to describing whatever odd relationship the two of them had) had been unconscious for some twenty minutes.

All at once, the invisible man lurched to his feet, pushing Peter away wildly. "What the hell, mate?"

"W-what?" he asked, confused as Claude lashed out, continuing to shove him away. Peter grabbed him by the shoulder, preventing him from fleeing.

"I'm out of here!"

Peter stared. "No! You can't-- we were making progress... I need your help!"

"You knew they were after you and you lead them right to me!" he cried.

Anger flared in him. "Hey, I saved your ass back there. Would a thank you be so out of line?"

Apparently it was, because Claude replied, "Forget it, mate, I'm out!"

"But--!"

Too late. He was already out of the apartment. Peter stared after him, feeling anger bubbling through him. They were just starting to make headway. He could use his abilities successfully most of the time. And suddenly because of a couple of taser-bearing "them"s, he was back where he started. A walking nuclear bomb with no idea how to prevent it. With a heavy sigh, he walked across the apartment to the window, staring out at the city. All this was going to be gone in less than ten days... because of him.

Vaguely, he wondered how the men on the rooftop had been able to find him. The only thing that came immediately to mind was Isaac. Maybe he'd have to pay the painter a visit...

"Peter?"

The voice was hardly a whisper, but it was so welcome to him at this moment that he turned around immediately. And there she was, barefoot and in her pajamas, holding him frozen to the spot with her wide blue eyes. And suddenly she was yelling at him. "You _idiot_! What the hell were you thinking, running off like that? You had us all scared out of our minds!" It was so infinitely Dianne-like that he almost laughed.

She flew across the apartment quite suddenly and flung herself on him, hugging him tightly. Peter was too startled to react beyond putting his arms around her and returning her embrace. He breathed in her familiar vanilla-and-peppermint smell and felt like maybe things would be alright after all. He was home, and it looked like Dianne couldn't be more thrilled. He whispered her name and pulled her a little tighter.

A few minutes later she stepped back. "So where have you been?" she asked. "Did you find some invisible guy to hang out with or something?"

Once again, he had underestimated her. "I-- How did you--?" he stuttered.

She grinned cheekily. "Your buddy walked into me on the way out the door."

"Oh."

"So, that still doesn't explain where you've been," she said.

At that, the relief he'd felt at seeing her ebbed slightly, replaced with the white noise of panic that had been on the edge of his mind for over a week since he'd awakened. It felt as though his feet had literally been knocked out from under him and he dropped heavily onto the foot of his bed with a sigh. She sat down very close beside him, and for half a second all he could comprehend was the heightened feeling in all the places where their bodies touched. "I... Dianne, I have to tell you something. I mean, you've been to see Isaac, so you've probably figured it out already, but--"

"It's the bomb, isn't it?" she interrupted. "Isaac thinks it's you."

Of course she would know already. He had been stupid to think that she wouldn't have figured the whole thing out all on her own. That was what she did- she dug until she found the truth. Peter nodded. "I think he's right. I dreamed about it. Suresh and Officer Parkman and Claire and Nathan and Niki and her family and everyone was there, and it..." She touched his shoulder gently, reassuring him. She probably would never know how much it meant to him. "I was getting help. My--" He thought back to the term she had used, bringing a slight smile to his face. "--invisible guy was teaching me how to control my powers. But he's gone now, and I don't think he's coming back." The weight that had settled permanently into his chest returned."

"Peter, you know we're not gonna let it happen," she said confidently.

"How do you know?" he asked, wishing desperately that he could share her optimism.

Dianne put a hand on his cheek, pulling him around to face her. "Because we just won't," she assured him. "We saved the cheerleader, right? Well you know what? Claire's in New York. Right now."

He met her eyes, and as the blue gaze cut through him, he felt a sudden spark of hope. "Really?"

"Really. She's staying with your mother." What? Why? "Uh, yeah, about that," she amended, "I should probably mention that she's your niece."

She laughed, apparently at his dumbstruck expression. "Yeah. If the files I stole from Primatech are any indication, apparently Nathan had some fling with a fire-starting hippie seventeen years ago, and hey, presto! Indestructible, world-saving cheerleader is born!"

"You stole files from Primatech?" he asked numbly, trying to wrap his mind around it. He had a solid eight abilities rattling around in his body, and this girl that most people would have written off as damaged goods had accomplished more in two weeks than he'd been able to with all his powers and desperate searching for truth.

"Jeez, yes, keep up!" she said, a bright smile on her face. "After you collapsed, I went to see Claire and it turns out that her father actually works for Primatech, and I convinced him to take me to their top-secret underground bunker facility thing. Kicked Sylar's ass for you, by the way. That was cathartic, to say the least. And then I nicked a bunch of files- yours included- and high-tailed it out of there. I'm pretty sure they're still looking for me."

Part of him was overpowered by the urge to kiss her, but the rest of him was too busy being shocked by her blasé attitude toward the whole thing to act on it. This ready-for-anything side of her was one of the most memorable, but he didn't think he'd ever get used to it. "You fought Sylar?" he stuttered.

She shrugged, as if it were no big deal. "He didn't have his powers at the time. Some freaky Haitian guy was doing a real number on him."

_But you still did it,_ he thought. _You still accomplished what I couldn't_. But he didn't say that aloud. Instead he just mumbled, "Okay..."

Her next question demonstrated her ability to jump topics too quickly for most people to do more than guess at the thought process that had led up to it. "So you've got a handle on your powers, then?"

A flicker of pride rose up in him. "Yeah," Peter said. "I'll show you sometime."

"I look forward to that," she said, and he felt a glow of happiness. "But tomorrow- well, today, actually, if we're getting technical- we have to go see Claire. She'll be glad you're back. I think your mom is freaking her out a little."

"Wonderful," he groaned.

They continued talking for an eternity that could never last long enough for Peter's liking. He sat there drinking in the sight and sound of her, and taking comfort in her incredible optimism about their situation. But eventually it reached the point where they were both simply too exhausted to keep speaking.

Peter fell back on the bed. Dianne dropped back next to him, and he was too drowsy to wonder if she was actually planning on staying here. A few minutes later, he heard her whisper his name and forced his eyes open with an incoherent mumble. "I'm really glad you're back, Peter," she said, voice thick with emotion and softer than usual out of tiredness. For a brief moment, their eyes met, and her gaze was on the brink of making him tell her exactly how he'd been feeling. Then those eyes dropped shut and she was out like a light.

For several long minutes he lay like that, staring unblinkingly at her. There was no way he was going to be able to sleep anytime soon, now that she'd gone and said that. She was torturing him, and she had absolutely no idea.

* * *

**I've been looking forward to this chapter since I first started writing the fic, and IMHO, it came out like crap. But what can I say? The flame of PetAnne has flickered and died. But it's okay, because I still have marvelous Pemma to keep me entertained for the rest of my FFN existence.**


	48. Hold On Just A Little Longer

**Thank you all for your patience waiting for me to get this story wrapped up.**

**Sadly, I'm not going to "finish" it. **

**I AM, HOWEVER, GOING TO POST A "FINAL CHAPTER."**

**My inspiration to write the last five or six Diane-inclusive episodes has been totally shot. HOWEVER, I fully intend to write the final two scenes of this story- those depicting the showdown on Kirby Plaza- because those were the scenes that inspired me to write this story in the first place. I should have that posted within a month.**

**Thank you again for all your incredible support with this story.**

**I could never have done as much as I did without your help and reviews. ;)**

**Stay tuned for the final installment!**


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